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London Echoes

7/20/2017

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By Bob Dougherty
 
Some think hunger is just a stage echoing within younger people,
a part of the ruckus of finding the way to the flame we all seek.
Others know seeking is the way toward justice without blame  
and youth is darkness never daunted while wisdom is morning light.
 
Hope rises with pursuits never lingered in circles of contentment,
as we untangle the rope that makes us behave the conquered.
The staid shout, “harlot”, “debauchee”, but they are left gasping;
as steadily they start to see the world wrought with our freedoms
beauty in a rasping bass   bold colors   wear scarlet if it feels right.
 
No longer haunted by saints of the past we spend our time adorning
the halls of the future for those whose imperative hangs on the very edge
of our primal thought and it is readily apparent that this is not a simple
prerogative moving us toward the future.  It is what hardens our fangs.

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Herring Today Gull Tomorrow

7/19/2017

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By Bob Dougherty


Me and my dog walk daily in Tiburon.
We talk to people and look at the bay;
my dog, you know, he mostly sniffs. 
What a commotion last December,
I’ve never seen so many seagulls
swimming, flying and squawking. 
My dog, he ignores them, but me
and the seals think it’s quite a show. 
I told a guy I know about the gulls,
“It’s the herring run”, Frank says. 
“Herring swim they can’t run”, I say. 
He laughs, “no, no, you don’t get it
the herring run is when they lay eggs”,
he says, “gulls love herring eggs
and that’s why all the gulls come”. 
So, I shrug, “then call it a gull run”. 
He says, “no herring, no gulls”. 
So, I learn a lot walking by the bay
about people, the bay, fish, birds
and that whole cycle of life thing. 
I think the gulls leave a lot of eggs,
because no eggs, no herring, no gulls;
it all works year after year.


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Dream Farm

7/12/2017

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By Bob Dougherty
 
 
I dreamt of being by the coast
in west Marin on a farm.  Such vast
acres of hills and woods.  So beautiful,
whether cold or warm.  Weathered rocks
sculpted by wind and native grass so lovely;
Coast Live Oak branches gnarled and wild flowers
sprinkled randomly.  Deer graze warily as coyote hunt.
Cool streams teem with trout.  In the endless sky,
raptors scream and as night falls owls ask who.
A timeless canvas four seasons to paint;
treasure of landscape view and nature
is the artist quaint; as my visions
meander through…
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    Writer
    Bob Dougherty is a poet and writer living in Tiburon, CA 

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