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Archive for the tag “poetry”

New Poem

moononwater

Wrote this for the October  Writing Prompt Challenge on The Write Stuff. Just something quick and fun that used a couple of the words from the prompt. Enjoy!

Moon Cycle

The moon fell into the pond last week.
Snug in an ink-stained cradle, it floated,
Smiling at its twin in the sky.
Stars glittered on ebony water, while
Fish of red, orange, and gold
Slumbered under
Lily-pad blankets.
Nightly, the water nibbled at
Silvery edges, until only a
Sliver remained, and then,
Even
 that was
Gone.

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Happy Valentine’s Day!

 

red_heart

Thought I might share a poem today, about love missed out on, never acted upon. We all likely have someone we remember, wondering what direction our lives might have taken had we pursued that relationship. Just a little thought from Sara Teasdale. Enjoy.

The Look

Strephon kissed me in the spring,
      Robin in the fall,
But Colin only looked at me
      And never kissed at all.
Strephon’s kiss was lost in jest,
      Robin’s lost in play,
But the kiss in Colin’s eyes
      Haunts me night and day.

 

Wednesday Author Interview: Callum McLaughlin

awakening small

Today, I’d like to welcome poet and suspense writer Callum McLaughlin to Bookin’ It. Callum, can you tell us a bit about how you became a writer? When did you decide that’s what you wanted to be, and what steps did you take to prepare for a writing career?  Read more…

Star-Gazing by Marcia Meara

perseids

The Perseids . . . 
Lying back under 
The ink-blotted sky,
He tries out the words.
They tickle his tongue.
The Per-see-ids. Those
Pinpoints of brightness
And streaks of fire,
Lighting the night
In a spectacle
Older than he can 
Possibly know.

Look Dad, he cries,
Look how many!
I see a hundred,
Maybe a thousand!
I see them, too,
Dad says,
And together, they laugh, 
Delighted.
Joy shared, 
And excitement 
Doubled.

Come see the meteors,
Dad said, as he
Shook him awake
Just before dawn.
He crawled from the tent,
Rubbing his eyes, 
Then staring in wonder.
With the sky still a midnight black,
And bright stars wheeling overhead, 
The fireworks came.
Racing toward Earth,
One after another,
The Perseids. 
The miracle of hot August nights.
A late-summer light show
That electrified his soul.
His young heart transfixed
By the sight of the universe,
Lit with streamers
Of flame.

A meteor shower,
Dad tells him again,
But he knows nothing
So beautiful has a name
So ordinary.
Stars, he thinks, pulled loose
From the fabric of the sky,
And flung toward earth, 
Trailing silver and gold,
And bringing pieces of Heaven
To those watching below.

He holds up his hands,
Cupped reverently, 
To catch one of his own.
To be blessed by 
This summer magic.
He holds his breath, waiting
For the illumination
Of his soul to begin.
Falling stars,
Falling from the
Summer sky,
For him.

-Marcia Meara –

Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love

Sunday’s Blog of the Week: Caitlin Stern Writes

blogoftheweekbutton2

Caitlin Stern is my good friend and my editor, as well, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be objective about her blog. I can be, and I am, and it’s a very nice place to visit. She posts various regular features throughout the week, such as Top Ten Tuesdays, and Weekend Writing Warriors, and these are always fun to check out. She also shares her thoughts on a variety of topics related to books and writing, and these are thought-provoking topics as well. But the best thing about Caitlin’s blog for me are the days when she shares a new poem.

Caitlin is a gifted poet whose observations can be touching and profound, or light-hearted and amusing. Or sometimes, a combination of both. No matter the mood of the poem, it is sure to speak to something in your soul. If you love poetry, as I do, I highly recommend checking out her blog. And even if you don’t, the other posts are certain to pull you in. I’m especially fond of her participation in Top Ten Tuesdays. One of these days I’m actually going to sign on to take part in that, myself, but until then, it’s always a treat to see how Caitlin tackles each week’s subject.

Stop by to see what’s happening at Caitlin Stern Writes, and be sure to tell her I said hello! You’ll enjoy yourself there.

Caitlin Stern Writes

Sunday’s Blog of the Week: Silver Birch Press

summer_anthology_cover_medium2

One of My Favorite Silver Birch Press Anthologies
Definitely 5 of 5 Stars

Silver Birch Press was one of the first blogs I started following when I joined the WordPress family, and it’s still one of the most inspiring out there. Filled with every sort of poetry, excerpts from essays and books, and quotes and ideas that inspire me daily, it’s my Go-To place for a quick look at the difference words can make in our lives.

An independent publisher out of Los Angeles, Silver Birch Press represents new voices in Fiction, Non-Fiction, Plays and Poetry, and does so with flair and style, but they also keep us in touch with the voices of those who have gone before. Part of the fun of seeing what’s new each day is never knowing if I’m going to discover a brand new writer, or be reminded of the brilliance of someone whose work I admired years ago. And I have a special fondness for SBP, since they have given me an opportunity to express my voice, as well. I’ve had poems included in several of their wonderful anthologies. Without that experience, I might never have decided to take the plunge and write my first novel.

For all of the reasons listed above, I’m happy to present Silver Birch Press as my Blog of the Week, and I hope some of you will head on over to check them out. Follow SBP, and you’ll get an email notice keeping you abreast of each new poem or excerpt, so you won’t miss anything that speaks to your heart.  Take it from me, there’s always something wonderful, fun, or inspirational being shared there.

Silver Birch Press

Poem of the Day: The Rope Swing

Blue-Ridge-Mountain-Club-Hole

One more from the Mac at Ten section of Summer Magic. Hope you can feel  all the exuberance of a young boy spending the afternoon at a mountain swimming hole.

The Rope Swing

Sailing up, up into
Blue summer sky,
Hot rope rough against his hands,
He shouts with joy, and lets go.
For a crystal moment,
He hangs suspended,
Frozen in time
Like a fly in amber.
All awkward angles–
Shoulder blades and
Elbows, and
Knobby knees,
Painted against the sky,
Heart filled with fierce joy.

Dropping, down, down
Into clear green water
Cold on his skin,
He sinks to the silty bottom
And sits suspended
In an alien world,
Watching  the silvered flashes
Of tiny fish darting to and fro,
Startled by his sudden appearance.
I am a fish, too, he thinks,
And holds his breath
As long as he can.

Finally, he rockets up
Through a stream of
Tickling bubbles,
Breaking the
Surface of the water
With a loud whoop of
Childish exuberance.
All thoughts of becoming a fish
Forgotten as he
Scrambles out,
Shakes the water from his hair,
And, grinning, hitches up his
Baggy shorts.

He’s ready
To do it all again.
Flying through the summer air,
Dropping into the cold water
To commune with fishes
Silvered in refracted light.
Then leaping to the surface,
A boy of ten once more,
Laughing through an endless summer
Made perfect by a cool green pond,
And an old rope swing.

     – Marcia Meara –

Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love

Poem of the Day: Summer Magic

blue-ridge-parkway-autumn-mountains-sunset-nc--boundless-dave-allen

Thinking about my sequel to Wake-Robin Ridge has me remembering how much I loved the idea of a little ten-year old boy who grew up camping in the mountains with his dad, every summer. The first part of my chapbook, Summer Magic, is called Mac At Ten, and celebrates those years of innocent childhood, as he learned to love those mountains with all his heart. Here’s one of those poems.

Summer Magic

Crawling quietly from his tent,
His dad still lost in slumber within,
He sits down alone on the granite slab,
Coltish legs drawn up to his chin,
And arms wrapped around skinny knees.
He gazes toward the pale horizon,
Watching the sleeping valley below.
With breath held in anticipation,
He waits for the magic
He knows will come.

There! A thin curve of molten red!
A far away sliver of fiery light
Breaks the horizon.
Rising slowly,
It bathes the tops of the rolling hills
In a brilliant spill of gold.
Mother-of-pearl dawn
Gives way to butter yellow
Morning light.

In front of his wide, blue eyes,
The world awakens.
Magic arrives and
Day is born,
Again.
He smiles to himself and wraps
His arms more tightly
Around his knees,
Shivering in private delight, and
Holding the beauty
Close within,
Having already learned
Some magic is
Secret.

  – Marcia Meara –

Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love

Lending Fate A Hand

scrapbook_heart_red_4_scrapbook_frame

Lending Fate A Hand

Standing near the shop,
I watch.
People rush in and out,
Jostling, hurrying.
Carrying steaming cups
To offices nearby. 

I wait for the right one.
Finally! He exits and
Heads toward me.
My heart stutters
With pleasure
As I admire him.
He’s tall, wide-shouldered,
Very blonde.
A Viking in Armani.
Yes, I think. Oh, yes.
He’s just as perfect as
He looked yesterday.

With careful timing,
I step into his path,
And we collide.
Oh! I’m so sorry!
He stops, surprised.
Then bends to pick up my purse.
Handing it back, he smiles.
My fault, he says.
I should have been paying attention.

We stand for a moment,
Assessing each other,
Then I laugh awkwardly,
And flash him a look
He can’t mistake.
His eyes widen slightly,
His smile, as well.
And I know.
He’ll be here tomorrow,
Ordering latte, and
Looking for me.
I’ll be waiting.

     – Marcia Meara –

Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love

Astigmatism by Amy Lowell

For all those, including myself, who might be tempted to think their view of what’s right or beautiful is the only one.

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Astigmatism

by Amy Lowell
To Ezra Pound: with Much Friendship and Admiration and Some Differences of Opinion

The Poet took his walking-stick
Of fine and polished ebony.
Set in the close-grained wood
Were quaint devices;
Patterns in ambers,
And in the clouded green of jades.
The top was smooth, yellow ivory,
And a tassel of tarnished gold
Hung by a faded cord from a hole
Pierced in the hard wood,
Circled with silver.
For years the Poet had wrought upon this cane.
His wealth had gone to enrich it,
His experiences to pattern it,
His labour to fashion and burnish it.
To him it was perfect,
A work of art and a weapon,
A delight and a defence.
The Poet took his walking-stick
And walked abroad.

Peace be with you, Brother.

The Poet came to a meadow.
Sifted through the grass were daisies,
Open-mouthed, wondering, they gazed at the sun.
The Poet struck them with his cane.
The little heads flew off, and they lay
Dying, open-mouthed and wondering,
On the hard ground.
“They are useless. They are not roses,” said the Poet.

Peace be with you, Brother. Go your ways.

The Poet came to a stream.
Purple and blue flags waded in the water;
In among them hopped the speckled frogs;
The wind slid through them, rustling.
The Poet lifted his cane,
And the iris heads fell into the water.
They floated away, torn and drowning.
“Wretched flowers,” said the Poet,
“They are not roses.”

Peace be with you, Brother. It is your affair.

The Poet came to a garden.
Dahlias ripened against a wall,
Gillyflowers stood up bravely for all their short stature,
And a trumpet-vine covered an arbour
With the red and gold of its blossoms.
Red and gold like the brass notes of trumpets.
The Poet knocked off the stiff heads of the dahlias,
And his cane lopped the gillyflowers at the ground.
Then he severed the trumpet-blossoms from their stems.
Red and gold they lay scattered,
Red and gold, as on a battle field;
Red and gold, prone and dying.
“They were not roses,” said the Poet.

Peace be with you, Brother.
But behind you is destruction, and waste places.

The Poet came home at evening,
And in the candle-light
He wiped and polished his cane.
The orange candle flame leaped in the yellow ambers,
And made the jades undulate like green pools.
It played along the bright ebony,
And glowed in the top of cream-coloured ivory.
But these things were dead,
Only the candle-light made them seem to move.
“It is a pity there were no roses,” said the Poet.

Peace be with you, Brother. You have chosen your part.

Star-Gazing by Marcia Meara

2005_perseids

The Perseids . . . 
Lying back under 
The ink-blotted sky,
He tries out the words.
They tickle his tongue.
The Per-see-ids. Those
Pinpoints of brightness
And streaks of fire,
Lighting the night
In a spectacle
Older than he can 
Possibly know.

Look Dad, he cries,
Look how many!
I see a hundred,
Maybe a thousand!
I see them, too,
Dad says,
And together, they laugh, 
Delighted.
Joy shared, 
And excitement 
Doubled.

Come see the meteors,
Dad said, as he
Shook him awake
Just before dawn.
He crawled from the tent,
Rubbing his eyes, 
Then staring in wonder.
With the sky still a midnight black,
And bright stars wheeling overhead, 
The fireworks came.
Racing toward Earth,
One after another,
The Perseids. 
The miracle of hot August nights.
A late-summer light show
That electrified his soul.
His young heart transfixed
By the sight of the universe,
Lit with streamers
Of flame.

A meteor shower,
Dad tells him again,
But he knows nothing
So beautiful has a name
So ordinary.
Stars, he thinks, pulled loose
From the fabric of the sky,
And flung toward earth, 
Trailing silver and gold,
And bringing pieces of Heaven
To those watching below.

He holds up his hands,
Cupped reverently, 
To catch one of his own.
To be blessed by 
This summer magic.
He holds his breath, waiting
For the illumination
Of his soul to begin.
Falling stars,
Falling from the
Summer sky,
For him.

 -Marcia Meara –

Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love

Showers by Marcia Meara

rain11

Showers

Drip-drip.

Huddled and sighing
Inside the tent,
Boredom a damp presence
Keeping him company,
While Dad naps
To the sound of the rain.

Drip-drip.

Comic books scattered,
On his rumpled cot.
Superheroes as powerless
As little boys, while
The day spills water
Over all his plans.

Drip-drip.

No fishing today.
Those shimmery trout
Are safe in the stream.
No hiking alone,
That’s the rule.
What’s left to do?

Drip-drip.

Quietly, he crawls outside,
His stifled squeals
Turning to laughter
As the ice-cold water
Tickles his back.
This could be fun!

Drip-drip-drip-drip.

Rain falls harder.
He splashes wildly
Through silvery puddles,
Arms flung wide,
Laughing louder, and
Doing a rain dance all his own.

Drip-drip-drip-drip.

Awake now, Dad laughs, too,
Tossing him a bar of soap.
He grins at this new idea.
A rain shower? 
Why not, says Dad. May as well,
Once your rain dance is done, that is. 

Drip-drip-drop.

   – Marcia Meara –

Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love

Indian Summer by Marcia Meara

Just sharing a poem from my Summer Magic collection. Enjoy!

Indian Summer

He sees her standing 
Below the falls,
Carefully balanced
On the slippery rocks,
And laughing
In the hazy October sun.

Only yesterday 
The ice-rimmed pool
Mirrored angry gray clouds,
And a wind out of the north
Chilled his bones.
Today, a warm yellow sun
Has eaten the frost,
And resurrected the ghost
Of a summer already laid to rest.

She’s wearing shorts, 
As if she knew 
There would be a reprieve
And dressed accordingly.
Dampened hems, and a
Misty sheen on 
Her long, slim legs
Bear testament to 
The wind-blown spray.
Her loosened hair is a 
Sable cloud swirling
Around her face, 
Smelling faintly
Of August nights
And tupelo honey.

She turns toward him, 
Radiant and joyful, 
Filled with a wonder
Most have long lost.
Her smile invites him
To let go of autumn,
To share the sunshine,
To be reborn in this moment.

Surprised, his mouth 
Curves in response, and
His soul cries,
Yes, oh yes!
Desperation gives voice
To need long ignored.
Yes, he says again,
This time aloud. 
I want the sunlight,
The warmth, the wonder.
Show me, teach me.
He takes her hand, and
Lets the sunlight
Flood his heart,
Thawing the frost within,
Setting him free.

   – Marcia Meara

 

Thank You!!

My heartfelt thanks to everyone who took advantage of the free promotion for Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love. Sure hope you enjoy it! 

FREE Is GOOD!

Last day! Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love is free for download on Kindle. Free is good, because…well, it’s FREE, and you don’t pay for it, and stuff. 🙂 Get it? Well, then go GET it! 😉

Summer Magic

Moccasins

One more for the night, also from Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love. This is from the Mac At Ten collection. Hope you enjoy it.

Moccasins

Sneakers on,
Laces tight,
Crunching noisily
Along the path,
And wishing…
Wishing for
The silent tread
Of the Cherokee
Who walked these hills
Before him. 

Sighing,
He flings himself
Down on the rock,
And stares at the
Campfire.
I could sneak up on deer,
He tells his dad,
If I had moccasins.
I could walk
Quiet, quiet,
Down each trail.
Now I clomp,
Clomp, clomp!
They know I’m coming.
I’ll never see them
Before they
See me. 

Dad smiles.
Here, son.
Your mom said
To give you this. 

He takes the package,
Curiousity rising,
Even as he tears the paper.
What’s in here, dad?
What did she send? 

A flash of brown,
Soft In his hands.
He breathes in
The warm smell of
Leather,
And laughs with joy!
Moccasins!
How did she know, Dad?
Oh, look how soft they are!
I will be silent now,
Quiet as a mouse.
How did she know
I wanted these
So much? 

His dad smiles.
Moms are like that, Mac.
Moms always know what
Their children want most.
And Moms always want
Their children to have their
Heart’s desire. 

He watches his son
Tearing off his sneakers,
Sliding narrow feet
Into soft, brown leather,
Face aglow with delight,
Current dreams having
All come true.
And he wishes his son’s
Happiness would always be
As easy to come by as
A new pair of
Moccasins.

– Marcia Meara –

Lending Fate A Hand

Thought I would share one of my poems tonight, just for fun. Enjoy.

Lending Fate A Hand

Standing near the shop,
I watch.
People rush in and out,
Jostling, hurrying.
Carrying steaming cups
To offices nearby. 

I wait for the right one.
Finally! He exits and
Heads toward me.
My heart stutters
With pleasure
As I admire him.
He’s tall, wide-shouldered,
Very blonde.
A Viking in Armani.
Yes, I think. Oh, yes.
He’s just as perfect as
He looked yesterday.

With careful timing,
I step into his path,
And we collide.
Oh! I’m so sorry!
He stops, surprised.
Then bends to pick up my purse.
Handing it back, he smiles.
My fault, he says.
I should have been paying attention.

We stand for a moment,
Assessing each other,
Then I laugh awkwardly,
And flash him a look
He can’t mistake.
His eyes widen slightly,
His smile, as well.
And I know.
He’ll be here tomorrow,
Ordering latte, and
Looking for me.
I’ll be waiting.

     – Marcia Meara –

 

Summer Magic FREE Today!

Summer Magic_

Got up a bit late this morning, sorry! But for those who may have missed the earlier post, my book of poetry, Summer Magic, is free today, tomorrow and Monday. Hope some of you will take this opportunity to download it. Nothing to lose, right? And you may discover it is something you enjoy. If so, hope you’ll consider leaving a positive review on amazon. Thanks!

Summer Magic: Poems of Life and Love

Summer Magic FREE November 2 Through November 4!

Summer Magic_

Since I have been at the hospital with my mother daily and haven’t been able to post anything new, I thought it would be a good time to run a promo for my chapbook of poems. Summer Magic will be available for free download Saturday, November 2, Sunday, November 3, and Monday, November 4. Hope some of you will check it out. The verses are very special to me, especially those that are about MacKenzie Cole (from Wake-Robin Ridge) as a boy of ten, exploring the fun of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It’s free. You can’t lose! 😀

Summer Magic: Poems of Life and Love

Haiku Reflections by Geraldine Hartman

haiku reflections

My Rating: 4 of 5 Stars

I confess, I don’t know much about the art of haiku, but I do know a lot about words, and Geraldine Hartman uses them in spare, but beautiful, combinations to evoke a whole host of seasonal images and emotions. You wouldn’t think a mere three lines–just 17 syllables–could say so much, but if chosen wisely, this book proves they certainly can. Fall is my favorite season, so I was especially entranced by the crisp, cool images presented in that section of the book. I could smell autumn in the air with every haiku!

Haiku Reflections is put together beautifully, too, with color photographs at the beginning of each season, and that adds a great deal to the entire presentation.Geraldine is a blogging friend of mine, so I can’t be entirely objective here, but If you love poetry, even if you aren’t familiar with haiku, I think you will really enjoy this lovely book. I sure did. It’s a good introduction to a very old art form.

Summer Magic Has Gone Live!

Summer Magic_

Exciting news here today! My little volume of verse (also called a “chapbook”) has gone live on Amazon.com today. Wow. Two books live in less than a month and a half. I’m feeling pretty good right now, for sure. 

Summer Magic is a 44-page collection of seventeen poems. Part One of the book is called Mac At Ten, and features the main male character from my novel, Wake-Robin Ridge, as a little boy, camping in his beloved Blue Ridge Mountains, where he sees the magic in all that nature has to offer. From tales around the campfire to watching the sunrise, he knows instinctively that he is in a special place, and he throws himself into the pleasure of it all, with reckless abandon.

Part Two concerns itself with a variety of topics…whatever was on my mind on any given day, pretty much. Life, death, summer and autumn, betrayal and abiding love. 

I thought this little book would be the perfect opportunity to learn more about Kindle’s new Cover Creator, and I will be doing a post on that another day, as part of my series on self-publishing. I think it probably worked well enough for this project, but I’m not trading in my graphic designer yet, by any means.

Hope some of you will enjoy Summer Magic. I had a wonderful time writing it, and am already at work on another collection of poetry.

Summer Magic

Thoughts On Attitude by…ME!

age-attitude-smaller

Ever wake up with a thought in your mind that demands to be written down immediately? That’s what happened this morning, so I ran . . . okay, hobbled . . . out to my computer and wrote down this little bit of whimsy. Hope it makes you smile. And maybe makes you think, too.

Attitude Really IS Everything

No!
Yes.
You can’t!
I can.
Why?
Why not?
It’s all wrong!
It’s all right.
You shouldn’t!
I should.
You won’t!
I will.
It could be bad!
It could be good.
It’s too late!
There’s time.
You’re too old!
I’m still here.
You did it!
I did.

Free Books From Silver Birch Press!

Silver Birch Press is offering two of their novels, and their Summer anthology as free Kindle downloads, through July 31. This is a great deal for you Kindle readers! Check ’em out!

debt_novel

Debt: A Novel

phoenix_memoir

Phoenix: A Memoir

summer_anthology_cover_medium2

Summer: An Eclectic Anthology of Poetry & Prose (Silver Birch Press Anthologies)

Reverence by Julie Cadwallader-Staub

fireflies

 

Reverence

The air vibrated
with the sound of cicadas
on those hot Missouri nights after sundown
when the grown-ups gathered on the wide back lawn,
sank into their slung-back canvas chairs
tall glasses of iced tea beading in the heat

and we sisters chased fireflies
reaching for them in the dark
admiring their compact black bodies
their orange stripes and seeking antennas
as they crawled to our fingertips
and clicked open into the night air.

In all the days and years that have followed,
I don’t know that I’ve ever experienced
that same utter certainty of the goodness of life
that was as palpable
as the sound of the cicadas on those nights:

my sisters running around with me in the dark,
the murmur of the grown-ups’ voices,
the way reverence mixes with amazement
to see such a small body
emit so much light.

To read more by Julie Cadwallader-Staub and other poets and authors, check out Summer: An Eclectic Anthology of Poetry & Prose, published by Silver Birch Press.

summer_anthology_cover_medium2

To Summer by William Blake

Another excerpt from Silver Birch Press’s Summer Anthology. Enjoy!

summer_anthology_cover_medium2

To Summer

O thou who passest thro’ our valleys in
Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat
That flames from their large nostrils! thou, O Summer,
Oft pitched’st here thy golden tent, and oft
Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld
With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.

 
Beneath our thickest shades we oft have heard
Thy voice, when noon upon his fervid car
Rode o’er the deep of heaven; beside our springs
Sit down, and in our mossy valleys, on

 
Some bank beside a river clear, throw thy
Silk draperies off, and rush into the stream:
Our valleys love the Summer in his pride.

 
Our bards are fam’d who strike the silver wire:
Our youth are bolder than the southern swains:
Our maidens fairer in the sprightly dance:
We lack not songs, nor instruments of joy,
Nor echoes sweet, nor waters clear as heaven,
Nor laurel wreaths against the sultry heat

 

Summer: An Eclectic Anthology of Poetry & Prose (Silver Birch Press Anthologies) (Volume 3)

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