Playing With Baby

'eyes and nose … fingers and toes'

She sing-songs softly

touching lightly

the baby folded in her arms:

a feather of feeling

like moths upon a flower;

caress of sound -

the sough of gentle wind.


Cooing and smiling

they play with each other.

Nothing in the world

more beautiful

than that tiny mouth

those bright eyes -

the pressure of response

with its silken hand.


She smiles at the man

across the room

watching them

sharing her delight.

She takes the little fist

and presses it to her lips.

'I lov..............'

And the bomb hits!




🌷 (5)

◄ Fireflies

May I say, today ... ►


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Raj Ferds

Tue 3rd Oct 2017 19:54

I wouldn't dwell too much on it Cynthia. This poem belonged in the moment. That moment has gone.
Let's focus on the now. You probably have another poem germinating inside you now. Perhaps it's in your mind. Or even in your sprit.

Raj x

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Tue 3rd Oct 2017 11:19

Does anyone else ever get so divorced from a poem that it doesn't feel like your own anymore?

I know I wrote this. It came from my brain. But as I reread it, I don't want to get to the final line. I know it's there. But I think: this time it will be different. And it isn't. And I wrote it! How to explain such a thing?

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Philip Stevens

Mon 2nd Oct 2017 23:11

I could smell and feel that new born baby ... atmospheric and when the bomb hit...

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Helen Elliott

Mon 2nd Oct 2017 09:25

Wow. I was lost in that familiar picture, reminiscing. Then boom. Very powerful, Cynthia.

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Hannah Collins

Sun 1st Oct 2017 20:59

Very powerful, drives the message home.


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Raj Ferds

Sun 1st Oct 2017 15:48

Powerful Cynthia. Man's inhumanity to man continues.
What's worse is that there is universal evidence in this day and age of fledgling lives being take away.

Raj x

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Sun 1st Oct 2017 13:02

Well ... what to say? If unsure ... then nothing.

But I do wonder what exactly IS the UNIVERSE.

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