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                      POETRY SECTION
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                     Sonnet 18
                       by Bill Shakespeare

         Shall I campare thee to a summer's day?
         Thou are more lovely and more temperate;
         Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
         And summers's lease hath all too short a date:
         Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
         And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
         And every fair from fair sometimes declines,
         By chance or nature's changing course untrimmed:
         But thy eternal summer shall not fade
         Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
         Nor shall Death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
         When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st.
           So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
           So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
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             (Untitled, Chinese from 2 AD)

         Crossing the river I pluck the lotus flowers;
         In the orchid-swamps are many fragrant herbs.
         I gather them, but who shall I send them to?
         My love is living in lands far away.
         I turn and look towards my own country;
         The long road stretches on for ever.
         The same heart, yet a different dwelling;
         Always fretting, till we are grown old!
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               Just Another Day 
                 by Rick Arnold

         Off to sustenance stamp office;
         What a great grand way of life.

         Filling out forms, answering questions,
         Personally, I'd rather find a supporting wife.

         Next. Off we go to the jobless office,
         Where rejection is standard fare.

         Filling more forms, we find here allusions.
         If I were younger, I'd think: cut my hair?
         
         Panhandling and uncaring, I'd rather be.
         'Stead of belittled and treated like chattel.

         Don't want to graze on society,
         Me, I'm not like your -- standard cattle.

Copyright 1993 Rick Arnold
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                     Day 166 
                       by Rick Arnold

         While the television's noise masks the silence, 
         Which is deafening, I listen.  

         This void, filled with: loneliness, 
         An old couch, a chair and lack of love -- 
         Is this apartment, where I reside.  

         Sleep, must be fought for to be obtained,
         Then quickly slips away faster than a dream.
         Pain has struck again, reminding me of life.  

         Awakened, by sounds of silence 

         Being disturbed by sounds, 
         Of what could possibly be her return 
         -- a door opening, a car stopping, a heart opening --
         With arms outstretched -- waiting . . .

         To receive a long needed embrace.

Copyright 1993 Rick Arnold
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                                     by Rick Arnold
  A Day in Life's Abyss . . .        
                               Maudlin.


I told you I was sorry,
You don't believe.
                           Words cause pain that make me grieve.
We talk, neither
Of us listens.
                           Viewing thoughts, my eyes glisten.
My back is turned,
But not from you.
                           Turning to look, you bid adieu.
I do what I must do,
Not always for you.
                           Too many years of life, you so few.
You say you must be held,
By whom?
                           Black thoughts, see impending doom.
I read, I write, I work,
But am thinking of you.
                           Burdened by time, all things askew.
Everything is undone,
Including -- WE.
                           Conclusions of one, makes it easier to see.
Perhaps it will be,
Better, if we is me!
                          I, myself with thoughts; what makes it--we?

Copyright 1993 Rick Arnold
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