Poetry Blogs (Aug 2009)

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Pointless 1

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Hey! I got a new series of poems called 'Pointless.' Wanna read 'em? Well, I'll post 'em anyway. I hope you like 'em. It's pointless not liking 'em. (Right, that's enough 'ems for now.) I'll just post 'em, I mean post them, one at a time so as not to overdo the pointlessness, which would be pointless.



Life is pointless, so is the earth

So is the sun, so is your point of view


Art is po...

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Awaken him you say?


is it not better to let him sleep,

see, he is at rest,


better that then his rightous anger,

his swift and bloody vengeance on those

who would disturb his sleep of eons.


Be at peace yourself,

for it will surely come to pass

that when the time is right

he will awaken from his slumber,

then we will know the

anger and vengeance of the

forgotten one.


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On Looking Into a Cot

On looking into a cot

For you and you alone,
Creation has somehow come about..

for a moment, held its breath
and then, breathed you,
to demonstrate its awesome powers.

For you and you alone,
worlds have collided : not
the planets and the stars
in their graceful distances
(though some say, even they colluded) ��"

but worlds of cause and mind and body;
for you and you alone,
miracles have become c...

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1st Day Reflections

1st Day Reflections


What a day. The time’s flown

Since you came into our lives,

And here you are, all togged up,

Spick and span (for now) and five.


“Have you brushed your teeth properly?”


The 9 months pregnant pause

Before the unconfined joy.

Nothing really then to do but wait.

It didn’t matter, girl or boy.


“Are you sure you washed behind your ears?”


Everybody fussing ro...

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After a Holiday Affair


After a Holiday Affair


God damn distance!

Hurl a mountain into the sun.

Swallow the sea.

Turn the earth inside out.

Stomp on clouds!

Kick the planets out of orbit -



Be cool, fool!

Smile, converse, concentrate.

Debit: credit:

Add a splurge of madness;

Subtract a little loyalty.

Balance the impossible.

Happiness is equilibr...

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Also by Cynthia Buell Thomas:

Do Not Lay the Burden | Old Woman in a Corner | Singing To Grandma's House | Moon Month |

Word for Word: Poet M Rene Riel

First let me introduce myself, my name is M Rene Riel and I live in Southern Ontario , Canada. The words that i reveal to you, are all that i have!

"the spoken word, from thyself, is a great gesture from a humble nature" M Rene Riel

My life and my motto: into the wind we all will soar and flightless dreams will be no more!

I started writing about 14 years ago, which started as a hobby, and as ...

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That selfish lover

Have you ever noticed

Have you ever learned

Did it take you long to see

Did it take you long to flee


The more you gave

The more they took

and when you stopped

you got an angry look


How they loved you

so they said

How they smiled

cause you were good in bed


But do not give them any more

Then you see them getting sore

Then their love it turns t...

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Moving Day

What a load of stuff!

I am obese with bits,
accretion, things that keep me in orbit.

I can arrange it neatly on the floor
like sweeping up the dust.

I can walk away.

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EEK! (With acknnowledgement and apologies to Coleridge?)

John Gilpin was a citizen of credit and renown
A train band captain eek was he
of good ole London town....

Well John Gilpin is no longer
and london no more a town
but to be a true citizen
is worth of credit and renown.

the values, they have scuppered
many lost upon the track
of railroaded progression
with loads of looking back.
how can the train go forward
if it is facing abaft?
though it has two faces
it ...

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Also by Beulah:

Hope Square | basic as I am getting going |

fun isn't always easy

i am enigmas
city girls
and rows of teeth
and i am tough
on you
like heavy boots
because i'm not too shy
to show you
i care
in the present thoughts
of how we might fail
when you mistake
a sense of fun, with ease
and sit back
whilst i demonstrate
how to climb a hill

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3 poems by Chloe Ramsden (Janet's niece)

My niece was reading some of my poems while on holiday this week and it seems we have another budding poet in the family.

These are her very first attempts so please comment if you wish but no critique. Thankyou. Janet.x


1) Moon.


I am but a moon,

a light which leads the way.

Who am i?

Well what should i say!

I may be a large rock,

some say i smell like a sweaty sock

but either way


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Poem for Alvin

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No chipmunk on his shoulder

No stardust in his eyes

Alvin parted waters

Poetic pathways to find

Led people to safe haven

Heaven's remedy on Earth

Lightened heart with laughter

Gladdened weary soul with mirth.


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Also by Isobel:

Words |

Familiar Environment?

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Familiar Environment?


I hear the sound of my breath

Loud and heavy as I explore an alien,

Yet seemingly familiar environment.


I have to remember to keep breathing

As I crane my neck in all directions

Amazed at what I can see


My body is encapsulated in black

As I become more confident

And improve my glide


My guardian angel partly controls

My vest as I rise and fall

And feel ...

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the felt dresses the libertine skeleton

who scathes all meat as cancer,

cold air took the plate and hands are glass

with lipstick marks,

the carrot dangles

like a corpse of sin

and turning away, a figure tuts

and teeth litter the path.

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Also by Marianne Daniels:

Listening to Nina Simone | Deaf and Mule | Vietnam | medicine | The Dead Mermaid | Echo and Narcissus | War Widow |

A poem for Isobel

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As you read this poem

You think

What is this poem going to be about?

You read the fourth line

And go back to the start

And read the first five lines again

It becomes clear

This poem is about you

Reading a poem by Alvin Guinessberg

You think

I could write a better poem than this

And that poem is my gift to you

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Also by Alvin Guinessberg:

Read more and leave comments | Who I write poetry for |

Drunken Cunts

I hide my true feelings with a smile an a nice look
Cos I don't wanna end up smashed up with glass cuts
You see
I work in a club with fat hens and big cocks
They complain that I serve them a drink in a plastic pint pot
But I really don't give a fuck
Roll on 3 oclock
They order sambuca shots even though they hate the taste
I laugh inside as they screw their face
It's full of gangsters who sit on the dole

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Also by Mike Anthony:

Park | Wrong Again | Lost |

Big Chill August 2009

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The Big Chill : all the right sounds but not necessarily in the right order









Drum ‘n’ bass

Jazz beats

Rare groove

Funked up

Multi phonic







Hip hop

art pop

Funk laden


Deep funk




Lo fi


Doom metal

Baile funk


Acid house



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Also by Dave Morgan:

If........... |

Portrait of the Ventriloquist as a Young Man

Palace Pier.
As the curtain falls
on old Victoria,
it rises for The Great Gabbo.

A private audience
with a child genius
and his wrinkled Sailor Doll.
Drinking from glasses, throwing voices,
salty banter from an aged timbered mouth
full of the sin of dark rum and pieces of eight.
He tries to keep the old man at arms length,
whilst jiggling him on his knee
arms flailing and pointing
scaring invisible birds, from...

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Everlasting greatness,

Although slowly dying.

Relinquished its beauty for many ungreatful beings.

Them! They complain, but they aren't truly trying.

Hell is Earth!

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Those envelopes

Sent off with hopes

Keep coming back

Containing “ Nopes”


Should update this for the email submission age

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Are locked in a trunk
At the bottom of the sea
For no one to find.
They eat away at me
And want to escape,
But fear and guilt stand in
                         the way-
Someone else's anger
Someone else's pain.
The lies are seeping out.
You can see them in the rain,
Smell them, feel them
Embrace the truth.
The whole world knows now,
There's no one else
to blame.

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Another Sunday, Another Slap.

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Silence is a beutiful sound

I dont seem to have heard before

Relaxing in a chair

I listen somemore,


But thats when the bell goes

And you storm through the door

You call me a whore

and drag me onto the floor


The beutiful silence has gone

as you kick me on the floor

my ribs are killing me as I stand

And beg you "PLEASE! NO MORE!"


But thats when you backhand me

On your breath I ...

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Also by Sarah Clark:

Here we go again! |


I put this poem on the poetry review site, first one I had written in years and haven't fine tuned it because if I do, I feel that it will take away the specific moment of the poem. I just wrote it - tell a lie I did fine tune a couple of tiny little bits, mainly that involved the dreaded ' apostrophe'. If you looked at the poetry review, thanks for all your great comments on it and thank you all ...

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Also by Nicky Burrows:

Write Out Loud! | Lilley | Glass Eyes |

Rowan tree

All things are transient,
The rowan tree grows,
season on season.
Senses the earth breathe
and shift in her roots.
The sun feeds her leaves.
Blossoms fruit to ripe red berries.
Away the leaves fall,
Night sky winters,
And frost snaps at her branches
She will repeat to fade.



apologies to mr garside , i suspect either he or i or we have used one of these lines before

finally managed the edit , ...

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in celebration of older women

in middle age

her face speaks to me

a fingerprint in time

individual and perfect

it speaks to me

with no words

“i have


in youth bland

the same as any other

perfect peach



a vivid venus




a perfect thorn

amid the safe roses

i prefer the thorn

it knows things and protects the rose

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Carpe diem

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Seize the day

Seize it quick

Cast your eye

Change what’s in your mist

Colour your eyes enliven your skin

Conjure up beauty from within

Call your friends to arms

Camouflage your soul

With a can do attitude

Caress your mind

Coil up those murmurings

Like a Catherine wheel

Unravel and watch it explode

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Also by Cat P:

Permiss my cry | Theme: Trash | No love lost here | Theme: cruelty | Fucking (comfortable) In Pink | Looking glass |


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  Put sunflowers on my coffin

  When I am gone.

  Big bold bright faces

  Lifted to the sun.


  Do not put roses

  Petals curled tight in

  Upon themselves

  Hiding their sweetness.


  No chrysanthemums

  Mediocre and melancholic

  Nothing flowers from those

  Who knew me not.


  Do not put lilies

  White and sterile,

  Their death stench reaching

  Down the years.



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Also by Cate:

A Cheeky Little Number | Our Gramps |

Want and Need

Want more radiant skin?

Go live in Chernobyl


Need to shed a few pounds?

Go live in Ethiopia


Want people to stop calling you racist?

Cut both your hands off, then your tongue

Try not to glug


Need people to stop calling you homophobic?

Go shag a Queer


Want to learn how to understand irony?

You can’t – there are no books on it.


Need to believe?

Try anything


Want colon...

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It's my wedding anniversary and I catch the early morning train to work.

An hour later I'm walking along a corridor, into my office on the 13th floor

and I think I must be in trouble as my boss is standing by the door.

He says, You'd better go back home. The Doctor's with your mother.

Next thing I know I'm sitting on the blue seat of a train that's pulling

out from Waterloo Station. Opp...

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Also by Rodney Wood:


Upcoming Gigs

Monday 24th August 2009 8:00pm -10:00pm Vibe Bar, Old Truman Brewery, 91-95 Brick Lane, London E1 6QL. It's the Monologue Slam. I'm competing in the three-minute round - doing the famous 'inches speech' from the film "Any Given Sunday" as Sir Alex Ferguson!  Tickets £5 online from http://www.monologueslam.com or £7 on the door.

Survivor's Poetry Thursday August 27th 7.30pm at Tottenham Chanc...

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Ivory Towers

Ivory Towers


Oh for an ivory tower

From which I could dispense

My wisdom to the numpties below,

The plebs, those too dense

To comprehend the word of god,

My gospel and my revelations.

My soul/sole mission in life,

Is the edification

Of those less gifted,

And to share my wisdom,

Liberally, in large doses,

In this, my chosen fiefdom.

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Two (Very) New Ones, Let Me Know What You Think

Abraxas On the Neighbour's Dog

Oh, oh how I wish it was the 16th century

And basic maths was sorcery

And the coding language of word processors

Was as distant as the Eighth Path or The Cross.

I would call Abraxas, I would be haruspex

I would cast the bones of your mother,

Foul pup,

I would boil her like a turgid skin kettle

And lift her on sticks to det...

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I asked my grandmother,

when she was dead,

where I was from.

She wouldn’t tell me when she was alive.

In my dream, she lifted a label.

It said,

Made in Israel.


I asked my grandfather,

when he was dead,

where I  was from.

He wouldn’t tell me when he was alive.

All I heard

was his violin,


Dej Aug 09

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Also by Deborah Jordan Bailey:

Virtuality | Aurora |

Manchester Folk: I will be reading at this event


Monday 24th Agust 19.00 - 20.30

Taurus Lounge Manchester

Presented by Katy Stewart

A collection of poets from established to up and coming; from all walks of life, backgrounds, sexualities and viewpoints - all reading their work with an intimate audience, answering questions and enjoying healthy banter. Come and have a drink and a giggle whilst appreciating the hard work that goes...

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Also by Anna Percy:

The Illustrious Magazine | Illustrious Magazine |

Silent & Cold

This poem came about when I was just playing around trying to use just three words to a line.  I'd appreciate any feedback you guys have on it!  Let me know what you think:



Silent and cold

Chills the bones

Freezes the blood

Unsettles the soul


Harries the mind

Wailing and shrieking

Harridan voices calling

Keening, crying, weeping

Sanity’s requiem keeping


The dead dance

The Da...

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Also by Steven Kenny:

On Being Alone | Watching The Clock |

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Newcastle accent

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I was born William Melvin Hicks on December 16, 1961 in Valdosta, Georgia. Ugh. Melvin Hicks from Georgia. Yee Har! I already had gotten off to life on the wrong foot. I was always “awake,” I guess you’d say. Some part of me clamoring for new insights and new ways to make the world a better place.

     All of this came out years down the line, in my multitude of creative interests that a...

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Also by Tommy Carroll:

I love Bill Hicks (being tickled) | waa waawaaa | Accent | is you is? | snip-snip | I Have That Tape Still | Twisted | Icelandic poem 1 In the voice of Bjork | Icelandic poem 2 In the voice of Bjork |

Second Chance

Second Chance


Whether to be or not to be,

To take a chance on you and me.

What to do or not to do,

A second choice for me and you.


Infinite possibilities there,

What to withhold or what to share.

Strands of viable outcomes meet,

Wait your permission before they seek

The path, or strand you then will take.

The random choice that’s now your fate


So trembling stand at crossroad, r...

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The strange death of a poet


The poet in question was always writing words

they were always written down as fast as lightening.

His poems grew larger than life

His muse became his wife

but if he couldn’t write he felt too much strife

his words, his verses, his stanzas began to swallow him whole

writing came out of ears and out of his soul.

They started to tattoo him in unfortunate places

all ov...

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Also by Daniel Hooks:

Redemption |

banality cont

banal is a fist shaking with anger that is too scared to strike

banal is every kiss, tick and a nod

that should have been a diss, a cross and a shake

banal is a should that should have been done

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Also by Emma Roy- Williams:

18 months experience |

Lost and found

He was quartering the field

up and down, down and up

gripping a metal detector

intent, determined, unwavering, bowed,

concentration etched into his face.

Watched by a woman leaning on the fence

impassive, silent

like him, in her fifties


They did not know I was watching


to see what they would find

to see why it was important

to know more about this mysterious coupl...

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Also by Dave Bradley:

Attention spans |

Crystal Kids

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Crystal Kids


One foot flat on the floor

Hands in pockets

Other foot on the wall

Eyes like petrol puddles

Huddled hoodies, faces hidden

Skinny, skilfully rolled cig

Pinched with yellow finger tips

And perched on dry lip

Crystal kids don’t care at all


Crystal kids lob bricks

Glistening shards of glass

Can’t pierce bravado this thick

Can’t touch the depths of disappointment


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Gone is the mind where love and hope once played,
She feels the urge to paint a world with blood.
She watches moonlight dance along the blade.

She dreams a world of red in every shade,
Would banish all the rainbow if she could.
Gone is the mind where love and hope once played.

All trust now shredded, reason torn and frayed,
A hollow corpse where once a woman stood;
She watches moonlight dance along th...

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Also by Anthony Emmerson:

"John" |


In San Francisco

As I walk the bridge.
The sun setting,
turning Alcatraz orange.

This city is a beehive
A buzzed up honey trap.
Always stinging itself.


Crawling through the Mission,
finding beaten books.
The ghost of Jack.


And I eat Chinese from a box.
Replacing the English in me,
from City Lights to Basildon.


The world slides.

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Has anyone had any experience with Erbacce Press? And what is your view of chap books?


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He turned up now and then, until one day, not at all

Got word of his death from a note pinned to the wall

'Your ten o'clock won't be coming in,

unfortunately dead, case resigned to the bin.'

Sat down in shock, the boy was only eighteen

Sweet young lad, just couldn't stay clean

Booze was his demon, liked it too much

Had no courage for life, unless it was Dutch

Dragged up by ...

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Also by Andrea:

Tramp Stamp |


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Faster than thought,

His retracting pupil checks, stirs,

The yellow eye sees, movement, caught.


Folds wings fleeting, speeds between trees,

glides, with the grace of a dancer

in a silent world.


Unqualified precision, cold.

The beauty of hunger, propelled

sleekly, through a funnel of air

brushed by light feather sweeping down,

down to the ground.


Into the chasm, small and gr...

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alone in a darken room....

the curtains are shut, the lights are dim....

feeling isolated when nobody calls in....

staring at the wall the mind is pondering....

the imagination slowly wandering....

being alone makes your mind play games...

disasociating yourself from reality....

going into a world of virtual reality.....


(c)2009 JEFF.W

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Also by JEFF.W:

Always there never to be forgotten.... | credit cards | Memories.... | Questions Or the Answers | Your Charms |

The Apprentice

The Apprentice

"I saw it all"
said the witness
"For I am the carpenter"
head down, foot up,
arm stretching ever more...

"Try to keep it to that line
hold it straight and true."
Teeth vibrating every stroke
board slipping, blood dripping,
from the deep cut then resulting.

"Darn it!"
Said the seamstress
"A stitch in time
you know will save nine."
Came forth from her needle tongue.


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Also by Dave Dunn:

Clammy Shadows | All Butt All |


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