Blues don’t complain

For clouds are dense

Untold desires will rain

Dousing all in consequence

For they trust the Big Star

Will rise just-in- time


Seed when soiled

Smothered in darkness

Left out to be buried

is set to shed its brown

Believing the water splash

Will life it just-in –time


Rodents lair

Insects crawl

Micro-beings breathe

Free to sur...

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Tags: #belief #faith #hope

Tree Top Refuge

We'll sit in this tree 
and we won't come out.
Not until the screaming stops.
Surely by night it will be over. 
Til then we will count the stars 
make a wish... 
make up stories where 
our lives are normal. 
I will hold your hand and 
you will hold mine. 
Together we are safe.
No one will think to look here 
among the limbs for
big eyed children afraid of 
the words. 
And if we are ...

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Also by R Miller:

Powerful Beauty | Impulsive Words | I Hate Ice Cream | Frozen Blind and Lost | All of Me | My Wish For Him | Ex Alert |

A Foreign Wood

entry picture


The empire called for more men, and they came.

Shipped from sub-continent

to western front,

Gallipoli, Mesopotamia, East Africa, 

largest volunteer army in the world.

They weren’t ready for the cold;

couldn’t understand new officers

when theirs were slain. 

Some wounded, shipped to England,

died and were buried

in a corner of a foreign wood

with Muslim honours...

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On the universe, thinking and string theory.

Walk down the street and stop to notice the 20 other people walking too. Consider, first these thoughts you have, now consider theirs too.

You know they are thinking, thinking of dinner, of work and of sex but you are merely an observer, a cognitive voyeur. You gaze at them through the telescope of your eye, and they just beyond that glass, are out of reach. 

You can never leave your own min...

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Tags: humanity,the universe,thought

A Poet's View

Imagery is not always metaphorical

But often the result of our selective senses

Seeking fact

Further filtered through the poet’s head

And heart

To an essence

That speaks in multiplicity

Whether intended

Or not.




Cynthia Buell Thomas

July, 2015

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Also by Cynthia Buell Thomas:

Points |

Storm inside a man

entry picture

Tuffan ki shakal me ham jab ayenge

Sab ke hosh ud jayenge

Aadhi duniyan dubo denge apni lahron se

Jis din ham josh me ayenge.


Behoshi ka aalam h charo or

Jab tak ham nashe me hai

Halchal macha denge sare jahan me

Jish din ham hosh me ayenge.


Bhid me chhup kar baithe h abhi ham

Lage hai khud ko tarashane me

Aa gye jis din bazaar me bikne ko

Log sabse jyada...

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Ode To An Unpoet

Unpoems do not entice

or tickle the fanciful ear


Unpoems shall not entertain

they ne'er raise to a light refrain


Unpoems seldom rhyme

or tick to the pace of time


Unpoems are not obvious

they have a tendency

toward either love or hatred

in the eye of the beholder.


Unpoets are often 

despised by the ''educated'' man

with his foul air 

of pre...

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Also by Huw Thomas:

A sermon...of sorts. | The dove. | The creep. | Lowliness. | Such misery. | My favourite | I replied unconvincingly. | And then listen. | Say the least. | I should mimic him. | A figment of the imagination. | ....do they need. | Back in the day. | Wifeillitis |


I open as Sylvia Plath

Awake, Askew

Cock my eye

Morning Dew

By breakfast I am Ginsberg

My cereal howls

Sex and Jazz

Trashcans rust and curl

I leave the house as Wordsworth

And wonder lonely through a crowd

Arrive at the track as Bukowski

Gamble on the lunchtime horses

Smoking a cigarette

While outside

A sparrow sings

As the day wears on

I am Cummings


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Tags: a normal day,poems,poets,thoughts,voices

Also by Stu Buck:

dysmorphia | claret | economy domine | beach |

Green Witch

Green Witch

Ophelia lies in her watery world
Around her head green reeds are curled
And when she decides to sing to me
I cannot help but answer her plea
Her pale soft robes billow around
As I follow her deep to a world underground
And wonder why she has chosen me
And what my task now is to be
There are many children here
Beneath the surface where it's c...

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entry picture

The flickering light calls from

across the disused railway embankment

like a lonely beacon sending signals

into the misty grey dawn.


Quietly questioning a world

still wrapped in strong arms of slumber.

I consider sending an answer,

would that I understood its coded question.


I’m drawn into its intoxicating world by

the pulsating rhythm of its incandescent heart...

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Tags: cold,cycle,delivery,misty,nature,paperboy,poem,poetry,pulse



under leaves


through this land of marsh and mire

the donkey pulls his load of heartache

passed children in rags and riches

down empty roads of winding solitude

the mocking dance of the raven

on a tree dismembered by lightning

a shadow of stolen liberty

that she was here once before

as the forgotten girl

who never chanced to laugh

no light burned from her eyes

the lonely l...

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Also by Colsibabes:

naked | Vinyl Memories | quiet |

Great American Literature

Great American Literature


Our book shelf groaned under the weight

of American Literature and my mother was

principally a communist.

An American Tragedy I read at fourteen,

and my fascination with A bridge over San Louis Ray

was endless, and so it went on.

I joined the youth wing of the communist party

of Norway, it lasted a month, they kicked me out

I knew too much ...

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Also by jan oskar hansen :

when news was easy | meeting an old friend | a poet road | the undying soul | changing class | job seekers | ghosts | Ruben, the teaser | Ruben, the teaser |

Candied Wonderland

You and me
Alone in wonderland.
A candied scent

Our lips stuck together
Like nectarines glue.
The taste of cherries
Making my teeth hurt.

Body hurting with anticipation
We both start to lose control
To the sound of our heavy breathing

Let's lock the doors
Throw away the keys
This night is ours for the taking

Oh, there diamonds in the sky tonight
Spelling out your name
In radiant light.

Honey kisses on your neck,

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Also by Keebler The Elf:

Months | Rainbow |

This Garden of Skipton

     This Garden of Skipton


     The accusations are muted here,

No more audible

Than a gentle summer

Breeze through the branches

Of trees that shimmer in

The sun,

     I can gain some

Peace until once again

The making ready of the gun

Signals the end of tranquillity,

     The brief startle

Breaking reverie of freedoms –

Now subject to despondency


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Also by Noetic-fret!:

Pray For Beer | Made For Bad |

On Highgate Hill

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entry picture
In the shaded leafy Grove
I parked my ugly car
And felt an eerie eye on me
Cast down and not from far
The spilling pub across the road
Young lovers revelling hard
It was not they who watched me stroll
Into the coach house yard
The spire of St Michaels church
White and ever gleaming
No Saints or Angels perched upon
Of I, there subject, dreaming

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Tags: London

Also by David Moore:

Coming home | State of the planet sitrep | M25 | Nytcophilia | Merely camping | Gazimestan 1389 | Gazimestan 1389 | Self assessment |


with its rotivation of air

this big thing hangs, a violation

threatening the eye of a storm

in its punctuation .

Hearts beat rotorwise.

It takes blood stock and uniform, pride

to places no decent man should go

and always, yet never alone in the immediate place.

The drum explodes, nothing is expected

that can be tasted nor heard

but a song of the vanquished, the refrai...

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Also by ray pool:


Eternal City

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Eternal City

Friends, Romans and tourists!

The eternal city
more breathtaking than pretty
where the prospect
of a Euro
is more popular than pity

And why not
you need money to live
in a city like this
buy a two grand hand bag
or a ubiquitous selfie-stick

We bake with the beggars
in the searing heat
a wall to wall furnace
is every street
stifling, blistering
almost unbearabl...

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Cycle repair man

His one eye would fix on us, mock glare

pitted, pockmarked skin, hands with grease coats

never washed, a dirty rag upon his shoulder

as we got air filled in tyres, late for school

he, mumbling and rooting inside a wooden box,

he would wheel across to wherever he stayed

no one knew. Or cared

a rusted lock, protecting his rusted tools

the key lying across his thinning frame


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Also by Preeti:

Parched Earth |


A taste of existence between two slices of the unknown.

A forced feeding of time you can't spit out.

A story of your life on a toilet roll to be used by the arse of eternity.

A place in a queue lining up for rigor-mortis.

A baby being made to jump an indeterminate number of yearly fences.

A listing of your name on a menu for worms.

A loan from the bank of creation requiring your ...

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Also by Rose Casserley:

me about me | Child of the Zodiac | beyond the Monroe cul-de-sac | cast adrift |

Koan on Knowledge

To answer the questions of life

a man must first allow the question

or how can he know anything

of life


© Graham Sherwood 07/2015

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A Model Archaeologist at The Carpenter's Arms

entry picture

On Saturday 4 July I celebrated my second book reading event of the summer to promote my new poetry pamphlet, A Model Archaeologist: https://leilaniestewart.wordpress.com/2015/07/06/a-model-archaeologist-at-the-carpenters-arms/

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Tags: Eyewear Publishing,poetry readings,The Carpenter's Arms

That Day He Didn't Die Again

~~That Day He Didn’t Die Again 

An empty crisp packet fought the wind
from the furthest corner of the park
to where I pushed the girls on swings;
it briefly wrapped worn denim shins
then railed against the playground bars.

Trees rooted around the meadow’s edge,
mirroring an animated crowd,
swayed approvingly and shook their heads
or stood motionless withholding breath.
The trajectory...

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Also by ray m:

Neapolitan Street |

It was not me

I said nothing

To cause those tears

To create the rivers

All men find 

Impossible to cross


It wasn't me

I did nothing

Or say anything

To cause the sea

of tears that drove

Worlds apart


And so so many

Good souls lost their


In the storm of 

Your raging moods


As for I said nothing

Or do anything

Well lets face ...

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What those who know don't hear

Once upon a time

I sat on a mountain
Forgot to look
At the sky
Forgot to watch 
My feet 
Didn't see 
The Lightning
Across the 
Thought patterns 
Which could have been
My mind
Didn't notice 
Ideas take shape
As the rain
Made the grass
And the sounds 
Which deafened 
My ears
Went unheard
Because of
The noise 

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Iron Lung

Sometimes.  Sometimes, when I am alone,
 I slowly, warily try and bring myself back.
 Cry out the rotting lump in my throat,
 pull at greying hair, a constant reminder,
 life is passing and you are no longer there.
 Unable to breathe. A little girl lost,
 flying kites into thunderclouds.


Glancing faces of mornings in all their glory
 delivers me to rest – and now I’m blessed
 with ...

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Tags: Katypoetess,love poetry

stepson icarus I (07/03-05/2015)

there is so much to be consumed;
there is so much to consume you

the flame-licking candles of summer love
the zenith where bending over backwards finally breaks
shatters the sky you've met as limits

and you come tumbling down, breaking every branch
at first trying to climb back up 
'I can fix this, I can fix this: I can be whatever you need me to be!'
then, trying not to fall so far

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Tags: the audacity of a ring i've never been so paralyze

Wrapped In Paper

You held a child's heart.
Each broken fragment
wrapped in paper thin lines,
torn from a brand new jotter.
A pain-spattered confession
pleading for answers.
If the words had come to life,
you would have been deafened
by their screams.

Yet you did nothing.

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What A World

A world apathetic to the pain that apathy wrought.
How much apathy would one want to endure.
Such a delight to endure the degradation.
Ever a joy to degrade so slowly. Into quiet.

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Tags: apathy,degradation,pain,sorow,world


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entry picture

(Written a couple of weeks ago but unable to post owing to holiwags)


When I was a young boy, no more than a sprog

We cherished the beautiful game

But now it’s transformed from a Prince to a frog

And dirtied its great and proud name.


The game was a beacon which gave us so much

In innocence, pride and in smiles

Brazilian magic, the skills of the Dutch

And Banksy and...

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Road Home

I drove home from Sunday night folk club with a storm over my house in the distance.  The beginning of this came to me.



Road Home


Leaves and walls and windows spin,

a jigsaw broken by a falling sun.


the road home,

a breaking storm.

I wonder what we began.


There is no calm centre,

power and colour after.


Yesterday isn’t the journey,


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Tags: abstract surreal,lyrics,poem


Images of obesity appear to define the age we live in.  Despite knowledge of nutrition easily obtained about

cheap healthy food (sardines, eggs, beans, bread, salad, soup, fruit et al) to be found everywhere, there's

this perversity of purchasing food in modern life that sees it becoming a deadly lottery of "weight and C" for

those unmindful of self-care.  Today's NHS is overburdened with...

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like stars

Like the stars up above are your sparkling eyes, You make me happy when you smile, like a surprise Your face i adore, And the love i have for you grows more and more I hope someday we get to explore the world Im just thankful to god that your in my life.

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Also by olivia:

nieve |

How much is she really worth?

How much is she really worth?

Her beauty is gift and a curse.

A gift to me.

A curse to her. 

Not really knowing why I want her.

Thinking my mind is stuck on lust.

But my mind is the opposite.

Her face is beautiful and her mind is equivalent.

She leaves a mystery after we talk.

Got me wanting to know more.

Exploring her mind besides her pants.

I can't stop over thin...

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Tags: love,worth

Also by Ja'Saun Young:

The art of giving up | HER |


I hate speed

Licence to kill, not a thrill

There is no need,  for any kind of speed

Wanker Bankers thrive on it

Arrogant tossers delight in it

Put them on a treadmill to charge batteries

Take away their car keys for life

Coppers should set an example

Instead of speeding at every opportunity

One law for them, another for the lower orders

Cars are murderous machines


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The floatability of fruit {an awardwining poem}

It's not about what you eat, it's not about what you wear.

It doesn't really matter whether you're a peach or a pear.

When the star you see blinks at me,

it died years ago but its ghost is still seen.

On the crystal cold days when your breath turns to smoke,

something secret seen to all,

sometime then I will fall.

Caressed by the sand man wrapping me with drowsiness,

a swin...

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He Doesn't Make My Heart Sing

He doesn’t make my heart sing;

he doesn’t make it soar.


He doesn’t make my heart sing;

he leaves it wanting more.


He doesn’t make my heart sing

although I want it to.


He doesn’t make my heart pink;

he only leaves it blue.


He doesn’t make my heart sing

with every word he speaks.


He doesn’t make my heart full;

well, only full of leaks.



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Unrequited Love

Don’t tell me you want to love me

abduct me

take me to despair

and abandon me there

Don’t give me contemptible hope

laugh profoundly while you see me grope

tell me how you’ll find me

yet continue to deride me

grasp at my hips

and doggedly grind me

push contempt and release malevolence inside me

Don’t give me sorry platitudes

perverse in all your attitudes


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Also by Michelle:

He’s a Drunk | Bukowski's Disciple |


Sunday morning and up out of bed
Time to inscribe more beliefs in your head 
Listen to preacher for he says no wrongs
But ignore all the pictures of boys dressed up in thongs.
The blood and the body will nourish your soul
And his words and a book will make you whole. 
We look onto Jesus for what to do next 
He guides you, he's in you, it's not that complex.
This man in white robe...

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Also by K.G. Mikel:

Soliloquy of a psychopath at Gunpoint |

It’s not rain

Fire erupts furiously

A roar of thunderous anger

Followed by a rush of garishly smoke

A message released in desperation

Begging for acknowledgement

Only to dissipate 

To vanish

To float past heaven

As the sounds and smells become part of the world

It is exposed

Seen to death

The final act

A lone and solemn drop


Subtly slipping past sight


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during starlight

Glowing windows

stepping the hillsides,and

pooling the congregations

of their lights

in valleys

having flickered like fireflies

join the late dark.



effigies of godliness

contrasting with tenebrous surroundings

bleat vocal anthologies of pitifulness.


An owl unfolds and paley ascends

into its ghostly predatoriness.

Obscured in the fretwork of s...

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I fell in love with Vic in June,
one sunny Dulwich afternoon.
I revelled in her company.
She didn’t fall in love with me.

It’s foolish, but it feels right
that I should keep my torch alight;
my heart demands that I defer
to love, and for the love of her
who wants me only as a friend,
I’ll simply let myself pretend
that one day, maybe, she might wake 
and recognise a telling ache.
I k...

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In Regards To

You are so far away, yet you still see my wet cheeks, drenched in tears.

Lips locked, cheeks flushed, breaths even.

You are so much within yourself, yet you still reach for my heart, pumping wildly.

Arms wrapped, legs tangled, breaths even.

You are so quiet, distant, brick upon brick.

Heartbeats together, eyes closed, fingers entwined.

Hear my whispers, listen to my yearning. H...

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Out Dogs and More Along With You

entry picture

n our home in Aughagreagh we used to have our share of the local sessions, where neighbours met up to party, tonight in one house, next night in someone else’s. This tells of a local house where the wife had a short tolerance after a certain hour and wanted the house cleared. The locals, out of a sense of fun and divilment, were not for moving… I wrote a version of this before and lost the words o...

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Tags: Culture,FOLK,SAYINGS


I lift my feet up to the height
In succession upon this flight
I rarely ponder this improvement
That aids my steady uphill movement
I stop
I look around
I focus in
On that constant sound
Many steps are being trodden
With the process being forgotten
All these people escalating
Faces up, never breaking
Gazes fixed straight ahead
Little care of where they tread

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Fruit Fool

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The kumquat sobbed upon the shelf,
A fruit somewhat benighted,
Despite the verse he sent his love,
His love was unrequited.
You see the fool was unaware
He’d got much too excited;
His muse turned out to be a plum ...
This kumquat was short sighted.



Copyright © 2015 Jonathan Humble

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entry picture

~~Watching wet suited fella’s a’bobbing
Got to wondering and then some thinking
Why so much sitting, and waiting
Continuous bobbing with legs a’dangling
There goes a wave, what’s wrong with it?
Is he just enjoying a tight suited, comfortable, sit?

Occasionally...  Very occasionally, whilst waiting
Activity will occur, legs and arms wildly thrashing
Damn, missed the crest.  One of the bes...

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Tags: Humour,Sea,Sex,Surfing


Dangerous men are governed by others , who dictate the way of the past . There duty to pray for forgiveness . They forget forgiveness won't last . There hatered , there greed and domination . Is born into there soles at birth . Thinking all females are there for there taking , and only them should they ever serve . But serving them females are committed , becoming betrayed , used and abused . So b...

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This Place


This building, this monument to my demise

This place supplanted for working I have come to despise


This battleground of angst and stress

Its tendrils tear down and barriers undress


My everything lies broken upstairs in my mind

My hopes and my dreams like dust from the grind


A warzone where many face few

An enemy within each day anew


My brain I’ll ca...

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