Poetry Blogs (Dec 2008)

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Passing Love


She was perfect as perfect could be

And though I feared her divinity

I stammered and motioned her to sit


Her smile lighting up my face

Like shiny buttercups in spring

I hesitated and muttered my name


As her eyes reflected my fear

She multiplied my inner distress

I blushed and forgot how to move


Lightly touching my trembling knee

She said words I did not hear

I shook myself...

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Also by Sam Kellaway:

I met her there | Christmas in paradise |

Another Night in A Travel Lodge

Travel lodge

All rooms are the same.
All bottles of shampoo,
claim a full body wash.
All the mini bars ever contain,
is lame orange squash.

He want's room service.
a demented Laura Ashley to turn up.
Dressed as a dominatrix.
Not a knitting needle lady,
trying to affix floral patterns,
to blackout curtain, sound proof kits.
Cuz he’s
too close to the motorway.

Yes the motorway roars outside.
The Phermaldahide coat...

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Not looking forward or back

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A mainly cold, dark, wet, depressing year

Is dying at last. Die, you cur, die, die!

I am talking about the weather, here

What else? Well I’m an Englishman, aren’t I?

Newspaper article prints some new lie

About how next summer will be all sun

To go with all the other crap you buy

If you waste money ever buying one

Well this past year has been both shit and fun

The cherry bowl has a hint ...

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Last Day

Diamonds of stars
burn bright tonight,
and I can smell snow
in the night's air.
This will be the last day
of this year,
and the stars above
shine so bright.
What new chapter awaits
to be written?
Where will I find myself
one year from today?
What lies ahead?
All I can do
is stare straight up
past the darkness,
through the cold
and into the lights
that dangle above,
reflecting all that burns
deep wi...

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Sentono la Pietra

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Do not be my echo only to fade.

Do not be my mirror then turn away

leaving me staring at the wall.

Do not write between my lines

then stop.

Leaving them blank again.

Do not shine a torch into the dark

and hold my hand, only to let it fall.

Rather let me walk on alone,

feeling the stone with my outstretched fingers.

D.E.J. June '08




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Also by Deborah Jordan Bailey:

Congelati |


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You open your heart
and try to tell me
that you love me
now and eternally

But "oh no" I say
why all this now?
I feel like a sore thumb
in a crowd

Why can't you see
what you're doing to me?
I want to be free
yet you won't let me

For old times sake
just let me be
"Oh I do" I hear you say
but no you don't, this isn't the way!

In the end
I wonder why I bother
when all you try to do
is get your leg over


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Santa's feeling grotto right now

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Santa’s feeling grotto right now.

been hit by the credit crunch,

his little helpers were put on shorter hours.

Santa has got this ‘ere contract,

where he’s down to make 20% of all toys.

Santa’s clause in this binding agreement states

he is responsible for awarding and overseeing

the sub-contraction the remaining 80%.

Contracts were awarded to China, Taiwan

and Traditional Toys f...

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Also by Phil Golding:

Future Wishes | Empty Boxes | The Yim Yam Tree |

Between The Devil and the Deep True Brie

I wish I was vegan

I wish I could properly cast aside all the animal products

That in conversation I so bitterly deride

Drinking milky tea

I talk of factory farming

And big up the ALF’s attempts at disarming

I flinch at the thought of all the cruelty and pain

And comfort myself that my stuff’s free range

I wish i was a vegan

Giving up meat was so fucking easy

Why is ...

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Drinking again? maybee



I was at a party don’t you know?

Bottles everywhere, booze was in full flow.

Coke in hand, want to play it safe.

Work in the morning, not staying out late.

A glass of wine then caught my eye, and with a cheeky wink said give me a try.

Vodka was in the corner Cossack dancing trying to impress the lemonade.

Jack Daniels had already pulled, the ice cubes melted at his fiery touch.


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Walking the Dog

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What colour is trouble?

How square is a football?

What did you eat for dinner tomorrow?

What is the meaning of life?

Dumbo the pig, flying with Fido the goldfish on her mountain bike muses:

'See how the sun rises each day and travels round the earth.

I am the centre of the universe.

That is the meaning of life.'

Just because you can say something,

doesn't mean it makes sense to sa...

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Also by Malpoet:

Wirral Words Christmas special |


It crossed me mind this year to give up smoking & drinking: gave meself a pat on the back ! It's the thought that counts !!

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Also by alan holdsworth:


Have yourselves a jolly little Christmas poem

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If I don't get a white Christmas,

I'll turn the dial that makes it snow.

If I don't get a white Christmas,

I'll kill the switch that lights the sun,

and I'll line up those responsible,

and execute them one by one.

The Christmas elves will shit themselves

with good old Christmas Fear,

if I don’t get a white Christmas

this year.


 Peace on earth at  Christmas time.

Goodwill to all and p...

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Also by Dermot Glennon:

Human resource 36 |

Sci Fi Christmas


Darth Vader is a sinister bloke

He often wades through clouds of smoke

Making threats and acting roughly

Isn’t he ever so huffy puffy


Luke Skywalker is a really nice bloke

To all colours and shapes of alien folks’

He protects us all with daring do

Merry Christmas!

And may the force be with you

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Also by Tim Linton:


Its only race man

You like to label people with race and colour

he’s a black this

he’s a jew

isn’t it about time we labelled you

yellow man this

asian man that

your even afraid of your ginger cat

hate 2 pac but listen to rap

3 times a week on the sun bed to get a tan

but you hate everything about the black man

time ’s up brother time to decide your colour

show your face, lets  decide your race


Keep c...

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Graham loves Anita

Graham loves Anita

As she danced “baby you’re so gonna miss that train”
Grahams agreement smile was exactly the same.
Now, in his mind and when he was last in that place.

Graham woke pretty much halfway to Budapest,
Drifted to a dense sleep searching for a lost scent.
Five years since, on the same line, the same hard luck bed.

He found her next in Venice near the opera house,
Similar chord progress...

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entry picture

                    The Black Room

            I am lost in the labyrinth of life,
                wandering around, wondering about
                    the paths that I have taken.
            My timetable mocks me, tells me I should be,
                pure and true, in the light of the White Room.

            I ask directions from a passing wight
                but they lead me into another dead end

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                           I am element earth and ore,

                   the twinkle in the sawdust floor. I am the brass that’s

              pressed and minted I am the note that’s newly printed. The rattling

                                               change and ringing till, the dirty, dog-eared dollar bill, the jealous         


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'That' time of year

Well, that very annoying time of year is upon us and I'm writing/editing a poem that is exactly how I feel. Actually the poem below is written for two voices, a very happy and enthusiastic and a very grumpy and annoyed voice, guess which one is mine? It's not yet finished but should give you an idea of what I mean.

Herre it comes,
That time of year,
For Christmas Cheer,
Snow, Presents and Reindeer.


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Crashing Waves Of Despair

Like a storm lost at sea,
you invoke turmoil in me.
crashing waves of despair,
just knowing you’re there.
Little boats pulled apart,
like my head and my heart.
You’re the wind and the rain,
and the cause of my pain.   Thick fog circles my ship,
as my mind loses grip.
It envelopes me whole
and infects my soul.
Wet mist licks at my skin,
I try not to give in.
But the rain and the cold,
leave me battered and old...

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Also by Chris David:

Enclosed Open Space | Nonsense Poem |




He came on stage with a cup of tea looking

like a younger Stanley Holloway ready with stories

about early heroes, free speech, Coke (the sort

you drink) and the toffs and sad ladies of Norfolk.

Mark's first love were these strange comedians

whose jokes were the landmine that killed Di,

performance artists like the one at the ICA


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"Coming Out Asperger" Book Review

"Coming Out Asperger: Diagnosis, Disclosure and Self-Confidence", edited by Dinah Murray, Jessica Kingsley Publisher's, (2005)

This fascinating and well-thought out work has been put together by a number of authors and deals with, as the title suggests, 'coming out Asperger', that is someone with the condition admitting it to the outside world. This is fraught with complications and consequences, ...

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Also by Alain English:

Asperger Poetry |


I look out my window and smile with delight

At all the things I can see what a wonderful sight

I can see a toddler in his pushchair squirm

I can see a little robin pulling up a worm

I can see a man pick up a coin I think it’s a fifty pence

I can see a fox chasing chickens under a fence


I can see a boy wave his mum goodbye

I can see a jumbo jet up in the big blue sky

I can see a dog play...

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Also by Kathleen Doody:


All Abreast The Season

I walk each day...After time ~ Mid a trance..
Whilst each tiny snowflake...Is drawn upon....
By the fountain of breath....From northern grace...
Knocking on the doors...Of the winters swan...

All abreast ~ The skirting of the season....
Softly laid..Upon the cradle of the clock...
A damsels voice....Mid the warm milky sun..
Dazzling the lanterns and the path they walk..

O guide ~ The enthusiasm amid the c...

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Also by John Boyle:

Swallowed By A Note |

The Bear In The Waistcoat Has Lost His Balloon

Woodland comes on strong

As poor as a mulch rug

And yet I eat it up

Like so much soggy cereal

In September rain.

Man breakfasts on

Death's back,

Careful not to drop his


And keeps his sandwiches in the trees,

Unopened like needles,

Nests sticky and promising.

Three flayed chests

On three seperate nights

Stick ice in camping trips

With one season bags

And fingers retreat


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Also by Rob Sherman:

In A Balloon Over The Sea |


entry picture

Four women side by side,



Their kinship cemented - like the

spokes on their bicycles.


They pedal proudly, against the cold chilly


skin fair, perfectly powdered

hair thick and strong.


Sisters bonding, swapping stories from

their day: Then they spilt -


wheels turn

different directions


Four women say goodnight

as the moon turns in.


By Belinda Johnston

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A year four months and four days

I didnt want to cry

i held it all inside

i look up to the sky

thinking why god why ;

one year, four months and four days

since ive seen you

i would cut off both legs

just for five minuets with you ;

i keep dreaming of you

its like your still here

but then i wake up

and shed many tears ;

you used to say you would die before me

but i didn't beleve ,

id say shut up Una please

this is where you should be ,

with yo...

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Also by Sarah Clark:

forbiden fruit...THE AFFAIR |

John G.Hall News

The Covert Poetics Journal in the United States have decided to nominate John G.Hall & S.A. Griffin for a Pushcart Prize.The Pushcart Prize - Best of the Small Presses series, published every year since 1976, is the most honored literary project in America.

Writers previously nominated incude Raymond Carver,Andrei Codrescu,Billy Collins,John Irving,Stephen Dunn,Ha Jin, Philip Levine, Rick Mood...

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Recursion [parameter x]


If this is your first time reading this poem

        Go to the next line, or else go to Label 1


         The power of Recursion

         Is the possibility of infinite answers

         From a finite statement


        Recursion is a way of solving problems

        Involving a computer routine calling itself

        Potentially any number of times


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