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October 2023

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Ms. Eva Tabaosares Kohr

Eva Tabaosares Kohr is an Accountant, an Artist, a Poet and an Entrepreneur.  She has published two Books of Poetry and received an Honorable Mention Award for Poetry for her Book, "I Shot An Arrow Into the Star" during the 2009 New York Book Festival. An established poet of Poems of the World based in Palatine, Illinois, for many years, she has two International Second Place winning poems, and two Editor’s Choice Awards from The International Society of Poets. She has been featured twice as Poet of the Month in the Laurel Leaves of UPLI since April 2020.

Having been married to Mr. Kohr who was born into ice cream, and working alongside with him for 40 years, she has mastered the art of ice cream making and ice cream cake decorating.  Despite her busy schedule, she still finds time to hone in her passion for arts and poetry writing.  she lives in West Creek, New Jersey.

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Spring whispers softly
To the sleeping tulip bulbs,
"It's time to wake up."

The bees eddying
Mile-deep salad of flowers
Left kisses that sting.

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The Master Painter,
Wiped clean the fall foliage scene.
Bare tree limbs remain.

In hurried frenzy
Left for his arctic retreat
Till first snowflakes fall.

An all-white canvas
Vast expanse of solitude
Pristine, fresh and clean.

By some unseen hands
Sculpting, haunting ghostly things
Like a child at play.

High on a tree-branch
Red pigment was left behind.
The cardinal clings.

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The summer morn opes like a crimson rose.
As it unfurled, the air is all perfume.
The earth is like a silken tapestry.
Decked with flowers in bloom.

After the rain, the sun.
And formed a rainbow in the sky.
Arching in the firmament.
The light is made of many dyes.

The flowing stream reflects the hues.
And the very rainbow showers.
Have turned to blossoms where they fall.
And sown the earth with flowers.

In a beauteous morn, such as this.
The bud awaits the signal of a kiss.
From browsing birds and buzzing bees.
Tell me dear, if this isn’t bliss.  What is?

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The wily winter wind, blowing wildly.
The aspens quivering, to life clinging.
While the pines merrily swing and sway.

Too full for foam, the waves roll aimlessly.
Seabirds on the wing, the bears hibernating.
The wily winter wind blowing wildly.

Wind-whipped storm-clouds above in disarray.
The boughs of heaven shaking, snowflakes falling.
While the pines merrily swing and sway.

Snow-sculptures, scattered about every which way.
A winter's playland, so beguiling.
The wily winter wind blowing wildly.

The massive weight of the white mass that lay,
On birch-branches, straining and near-breaking.
While the pines, merrily swing and sway.

Gather ye winter crocuses while you may.
When lull, the winter's breath faltering.
The wily winter wind blowing wildly.
While the pines merrily swing and sway.

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My wandering spirit may travel up and down.
In the Old World, and visit cities of renown.
To admire the crumbly castles and the statues of kings.
But I've had enough of antiquated things.

I dream of Venice and would love a gondola ride.
Under the starry skies and with you by my side.
Or to see Versailles with her flashing fountains.
And explore the palace’s many formal gardens.

'Tis good to study Greece and the grandeur that was Rome.
Where the Artisans and the sages, on cobbled streets roamed.
But oh! To take your hand dear and ramble along nature's way.
As the passing wind makes music and the birds join the roundelay.

I love America, for what she is and for what she is to be.
With all her flaws and past glory and to make the future free.
The "Blessed Room Enough” beyond the ocean bars.
And the rolling hills bathe in sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

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