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claire keaton' Profile

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About Me and My Poetry

I am a Italian Cherokee African American poet Vicentino Mason Italy I studied Munich Salzburg Augsburg Germany Mc Graw Kaserne USAF United States Armed Forces The Department of Defense creative writing fine art poetry literature folktale classic folklore writing short stories children books I also studied theology the study of saints of the Catholic Church Christian writing lyric's hymn's for The Believer's for Jesus Academy of American Poets also Poetry Soup of Marietta Georgia New Jersey writer's poet's slam of Chicago Poetry meet ups of Baghdad Iraq 1999 I begin summiting poems on poetry.com encouraged Montel Williams poetry contest for MS. survivors inspired by little 'Mattie' Stepanek the 7 year old disabled poet fighting for his life I was given commendations awarded best poet 5 years in a row completed 4 anthologies of poems recently Ernest Hemmingway home Key West Fl. Robert Frost poetry contest ....

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no not even one of us were without confusion bathed in sorrowful sweat geared with chafe thoughts no not one of us were without meaningless gestures blank souls froliciking about human kindness beseeched morally over human sufferage why we'd remembered the graveness captured on the grassy knolls an yet we'd fathered coil against the bleak minded forces that read no not even one of us while we raced from the balconies pointing at fear chasing  bretheren reaching sorely at an explanation for our unchallenged grief why we harbor unjust feelings of angst tempered an yet we'd fogotten the fishermans boat poured over we'd forgotten the water had turned to wine quenching the son of man parched lips while a harp strings rest at his feet why there was not even one of us tearless at the sight that called us to mourn time after time one phophet one myth as we chattered among familiar smiles familiar emotions lest we be scattered about morbidly dazed by the wrath of mankind the disciples patiently awaiting our place in line as heartless toilng covered in birminghams mud fallen to sleep at faith desperately seeking solace for peace why away from our father's house bidding gambling on hope while we honored less starring in a broken mirror glancing back at only a planted dream knowing full well that no not one of us could ever enter the promiseland without holding our brother's hand
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and then night come upon us we weren't prepared at all not in this day where we created such a stir causing the moon to blush with pink hushes underneath the starry skies why night appear as a blanket of warmth concealing our nakedness the way the breeze seemed to blow so briskly across the nape of my form coming from a soft sun set ravished by the oceans wonder our senses missed this calling completely coasting setting sail between karma and desire delightfully corked to be opened only in time abruptedly unexpectly capturing my heart on your wings  
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i'd wandered off again deep into perlarcher forest leaving the plattoon in solitude awaiting my abode retreat beneath a sullen offering malice inspite peace time as polizie could be heard way off in a distance soft memories of berlin arose as my eyes were blinded with visions of auschwitz entrance gate quite thee ordinary emotions followed as i journaled quietly tussling with the mere rapture of katyn coverage leaving so much behind my parents heavily guarded taken and tortured as i kneeled when my infant baby girl was handed off branded placed in a large bin joining many other tots the sound of the bell tower rang as clear smoke turned to black then into a gray mist i listened as thee earth silenced a thousand cries smothered within this chamber heavily guarded by trained passionate men of arms i'd awakened to a conscious thought victory or death light snow camoflauged the formation of russian tanks abandoned that year i hunkered down waving a soil stained pink blanket over the baltic sea 
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thee shee energy rolling over the infamous thoughts famished i was for grief strickened moments i was consumed with this sheer notion of loss loss of life loss of sanity ravished by my writings stored in stock piles my mere anxieties were tremendously soaring my mind spinning trying to explore thee ultimate that thin line where madness disquised as a crow flys over landing on broken tombstones winking beckoning my undivided attention why a sheer audiance of personalities traumatic events each annoucing that i focus solely on my hidden suffering while coping becomes plural red cross being rashined over time chaplin sits in catering to my spiritual gains my eternal salvation of all meaningful hints of sanity when all i craved was the black hole that sinking feeling woolfe declared a silent depressive episode climbing while gazing upon a dim light house where am i truly in art form thee untimely death of a poet where the mind continue thinking even after death the heart of a poet continue loving long after death the wretchid suffering of writer's block a guru beard a fatal shot insurance packet dangling i suppose boxes of liturature just what have i become vibrant beauty starring back at me a wandering poe entertaining these characters who will surely beseech me in my death this vague vile institute of self sufferage and carny a masterpiece fascinated with self indulgence and truth begging to be born begging to scream when only a sigh resembles the vunerability of a fine author well kelpt vintaged being preyed upon a bleakness of masculine manner of a girl poet called me sitting with a pout in doubt of all lodgistic beliefs jaded beneath a universal sphere a literary rapture prosed to complete perfection standing in front of a crowded mirror seeking solace a quiet mediation just between us
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the faint notion manipulating catering to the foundation of thee outdoors sportsman the family billard a calling wrath before kindred timings glittering rose colored diamonds vaguely focused on your hidden agenda's torn memo's divided however over the county line this always seemed to matter throughout the mere fundamental of a rather comical tethering canker portrayed on a moths wing between clustering moss continuing mold beneath the surface corrupting and devouring of truth   

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firery eyes gazing up at me from a broken radio flyer rusted red wagon i'd remembered your toying native nature capturing the fallen leaves of hardened dander your skin glowed a vague orangeness while you grazed hardily amids the the grave timing of your birth coliding earth with unseen mirth you began mimmicking my movements throughout primary colors and mistic fields doting on my kindness trying to fit into my abodeness clawing crawling sliding throughout my own human matter you'd become a cameleon above harsh currents breeding malice above hindering faith shattering hope while craving holsum goodness of sorts you'd mangled solace hidden in a place in timing concealing your soul from hints of sunlight eagerly blending into haste
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i'd invisioned the saltiness the granite marble
cobble stone walkways chimney sweepers
and irish fountains throughout the entire cities
... continued
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it was quite an adjustment at first the entire family caught completely off guard trust was very vague especially this time of year it was unclear how we'd settled in here why instead of my grand mothers sweet potatoe pies there were two kind agents fighting over the last pack of grandmas cookies in the vending machine we were taken to our cabins i glainced over the great granduer somewhere above sidney's sky line looking back at moscow gently embracing berlins covenant this was alot different than oregan's lodging facing an untamed moose and several elks this wasn't a happy place mom was in a state leaving her antique china ware behind and dad's coo coo clocks we were given new names mom wasnt exactly mom the only way this would possibly work how frustrated she was finding out my government job providing us with relocation orders she needed answers dad needed a fishing pole the children and i crave normacy but where was normacy why i was now claire not the name mom had given me mom was our housekeeper dad her husband in charge of the grounds fascinated by the tropical birds lizards and greenery now getting down to business the family buisness nothing was as it seems home for the holidays was home away from home questions had no answers and answers had no lodgical question a small desk christmas tree lit up the bland rooms suits surrounded the punch bowls empty flask enjoying the mood a positive mental attitude very private very open affection gift wrapped to perfection somewhere south of sydney australia
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friendly fire went roaring over head as major and i were forced back into the caves removing shining metal fragments and large pieces of shapnel i still couldn't believe my eyes as the train pulled in exposing the wounded headed for an awaiting chinook my wounds were invisble to the naked eye i suppose as helicopters flew over as we entered a portable jag office trying to retrieve our lost dog tags images of the three kings kelpt lingering on this day of all days  while the gift of life sang merrily ptsd rang out as major lifted one of his legs up realizing it was indeed the only leg left gravely we hovered hopping over to redcross on the rightside was a small fire house vacant outside of broken transmitters loose wires another ied went off in front of us we continued bravely facing the dim brisk cold mountains of afghanistan vaguely the mauve sky glowed a quiet calming effect on this night of all nights a peaceful might chanting the words just what do you know of this magnificat christ
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every ten years thee evil returns saddened eyes ashy knees gravely i remembered nineteen seventy four right after my holy communion alongside cicero greed set in over my space fierce thunder the rapture of black and blue bruises hunkering down while hidden logos aroused may nineteen seventy nine the complete war of village nuam many gathers fallen to no understanding a final resting place for the forgotten causualties bravely i walked away grooving basting in the sun outside of cuba the year two thousand and three when jane doe arrived half woman
half horse glaring into my window ripping pages into shreads cowardly fleeing to the mason dixie line georgia's calamity coasting through indiana this untimely haunting stalking this thirty year heist recruiting new followers wearing the same faces was begining to borrow mental amonition from that cold war era that blizzard of nineteen seventy nine carefully i watched my
surroundings tip toeing backwards over nineteen eighty nine there she was again jane doe driving her weapon of choice a blue and black hyundia extorting emotions and racketeering my prayers even my tears another ten years evil returned there were twelve of them parked in the driveway outside of the upper room it was clear what they were after while
... continued
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