Poetry Blogs (Dec 2010)

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'You're a chav'

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I buy all my clothes, save underwear, from Oxfam and the same,

Ready made meals never see my kitchen -

Instead large pans of boiling Epicureanesque broth and grain

Bubble and steam ready for their little freezer boxes, neatly labeled.

 

I read dusty little unshiny secondhand books; Lacan, Foucault, Rumi, too many to mention.

There’s even a little Brian Cox and Greene in ...

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Also by Jo Carter:

Ian McShanes Legs |

Some Sort of Baby Food

Some Sort of Baby Food

 

It’s just where to start, just where to begin,

The boy with a bomb in the Ostermilk tin,

With a chemists collusion the passing of cash,

Salt-peter, sulphur and ground charcoal ash.

 

The boy was quite young being just eight or nine,

The making of gunpowder well in his time,

A bomb or a banger ‘just questions of scale’,

And ...

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Grains Of Sand

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Peer amid the Pyramids
Can you count the grains of sand?
There are more than enough there
to build pathways to a new land.

Cement them all together then
and let's do the same with man,
make the effort to bring strength
and peace that all can understand.

For in the end there will be a need
for peace if mankind is to survive,
as only without these conflicts can
we hope to ha...

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Peace

The Nearly Moon (revised draft)

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I watch and stand

and let a passing cloud

hit by moonlight

make a rimmed spectacle

of a distant want.

 

I shift my weight and

blink

and recall wordless

feelings before

putting into words

those useless

aphorisms.

 

It's the words,

with their wanton

un-mouthed ache,

that bleat silently

against the ear

tangle those

as yet un-marked

a...

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Also by Tommy Carroll:

Daughter: In the year 2020 | The Nearly Moon |

I need help in this online competition, voting closes at noon on NYE

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http://manorlogz.co.uk/play/Other/Mark_Thompson

 

Been involved in this comeptition since July, really need people to register on the website and then click on the stars below the video to vote for me!

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Also by Mark Mr T Thompson:

Personal possibility | A less formal (peformance based) approach to analysing my lyricism | Poetic theme developed | Moving the same theme towards poetry | More on a theme | Hardly original, but still my perspective | Something a little more formal! | Manorlogz |

polar bear love song

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Oh polar bear rolling,

So tousled, so rumpled

such spikeywet furrings

so fluff and so jumpled

And growlings and strokings

And grumping and gruffing

And paddy paws loving

Bear tender and rubbing

And rolling and butting

And nuzzling caresses

Oh polar bear loving -

It always impresses!

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

 

 

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Also by Ann Foxglove:

you called me | questions | silver polish | primroses and tadpoles | Surround me - London cries | plump blond girl | ghazal (ruby slippers) | ghazal ( Fibonacci swirl) | ghazal ( snow for me) | mole | tunguska | life'sabitchhaiku | is this a fibonacci poem? |

Homeward.

 

Through evening mists whisk

south-west trains with yellow

eyes illuminating murk which

tryst to shade those rural

shops or lighter urban streets

 

Commuters seated in their

carriages peer down on us

part silhouetted types and lay

back with their evening news

to puzzle or perplex at office

politics the gossiping or blues

 

Conscienti...

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Also by Philipos:

Moonshine. | Dangerous Bend. | Passing Clouds. | A Township Like Alex | Feeding the Birds. | The Truce. | Christmas Cameos. | Dusk Patrol. | Rockpools | Hospice Cat. | Fresh. | Plagiarised. | Timewise. | When. | Daft Festive Dog. | Consumed. | Kerb-side view. | Whimsies | Botswana | Halo. | Abbey Road Remembered. | Maths | The Appointment | Hybrid Ghazal | Off The Verge. | Pre-Planned | Platitudes | Fuzzy Logic | Irreverence | Portraits (1) | One Man's Tobacco |

Anniversaries

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What Fassbinder film is it ?

the married man

walks into a jewellers and says:

What jewellery expresses days gone by

and they just keep going by endlessly

pulling you into the future

days gone by

endlessly,

endlessly, pulling you into the future.

and the jeweller says:

depleted Uranium.

 

 

 (after Laurie Anderson)

 

 

 

 

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Also by Banksy:

Brylcreem Days | I am a little wabbit | The Filth | Ankle-Biters | going nowhere & everywhere | The Golden Gate | tell me it's not true | Casablanca | The Times | things that get right on my tits #1 - Fusion Food | couch potato | for you | Valley of the Dolls | yesterday's confetti | across the hall | a poetry joke (not many about) | six seconds on a sunny afternoon | the old hospital | Gran,you'll never believe it ! | a man of letters | fair's fair | the piano teacher | sheep in ermine |

Winter Walk

December evening crisply cold

solitary stroll in falling snow

with soft breath starflakes cloud dispersed

soundless feet through lamplight of old globes

like full moons lifted in Atlas arms

along the muffled avenue

mellow yellow puddles gleaming at their feet

and I remember Lux flakes as they drifted

glistening

from the gaping box into the steaming washtu...

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Also by Cynthia Buell Thomas:

First Love (revised) |

The Sun and The Moon.

You are just the sun.

Here, gone, left, right

And I merely the moon.

Passers by of the same sky

Over each other's horizons,

Cancel one another out.

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Fire

Fire in my head

Burns in my heart

Rams in my gut

Soothes in my flesh

A sword to stroke

Love thrusts on it

Up and deep

It’s more than this

Riding on you

Giddy up down

And you in me

The thread is my blood

A psychic bind

A fetish chain  

Which ties us

Always to you

And each other.

 

You resist

A bit.

But never for long...

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fire flesh love passion obsession

Buried Birds

Where do birds bury their dead?

I know they do…

Walking in woodlands,

Parks, leafy streets

Cross-cut with instant meadow

Inter-lacing gardens, cross-hatched

With secretly nesting winged-wonders

Emerging to eat, scavenge, court,

Talk, endlessly talk..

Now the muffling commune of ice

Has freed blind stores of food

Beyond this killer camp of cold

 

...

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Also by Moira Eribenne:

Iris | The way you walk |

Perfect line

We are all dots … just waiting

to be connected to each other.

 

We mirror fingerprints to find a match.

Planets align as ink lines draw freely.

 

For a while, on borrowed time,

we find formation in crimson skies.

 

In backlit flight we say goodbye

To a once engaging perfect line.

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Another day at the office

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Is it just me... or do I appear to have sex on the brain lately? Hmmm, it's not healthy!

 

 

It started as business on a trial basis
your understudy, partner in crime
the exchange of signatures
contract terms
within weeks we were exchanging body fluids
dirty secrets and Heaven knows what else.
 
You showed me the ropes, and something else
not included...

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Also by S.J.:

Black dog | Vibrators are a girl's best friend | Christmas Lament | Mirror Signal Manoeuvre | Morning Glory |

affairromancework

Writing

                                                

 

 

Cancer had been chewing at her

For a couple of years before she

Finally succumbed to it

 

She was 40 and had

Two grown-up kids

 

I received the news by text

Whilst I was in bed

 

This made sleep pretty elusive

But when I eventually found it

I drifted into a series of powerful dreams

...

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Also by mike watts:

Bring it on! | Jackanory | Thinking back | Earwig | Crime scene |

eyes

eyes are following me everywhere i tread

eyes,eyes,eyes filling me with dread

they are chasing me to everywhere i go

following to places only i know

green mean eyes blue prying eyes

brown eyes of the darkest hue

they are hiding in the shaddows giving me no clue when they might appear

eyes,eyes,eyes how they sear into my soul

eyes behind cameras and cctv controls

...

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eyes paranoid paranoia alienpoet poetry poem hooks

I'm a Prick

  I get confused when poetry compares women to flowers.

I guess men waste words on paper

just for the sake of getting laid.

 

It isn’t like she is actually chlorophyl or petals.

He can’t promise eternal love

or endless orgasms.

 

I recycle every soppy poem I write.

 

Maybe I’ve never been in love,

or I’m just not a prick.

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Also by James Butler:

Mormon | New York Snow | Underage and Pregnant: A Nativity |

The Waiting

It's been a disgustingly long time since I blogged! I'm not quite sure why I've been so remiss. But I HAVE been writing, so I'll share something now. This is a little mini-narrative I concocted, when asked to write a poem on the theme of either 'violence' or 'silence'. I think that the following falls into both categories. But see what you think...

 

“I’m not waiting for you”.

 

...

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questioning that institution

it is not cowardice

to opt out and walk away

when it becomes misery filled

then it is not worth it

when the bickering goes on

goes on ad nauseum

then bliss lies elsewhere

 

it is not about regret

the germination of future bliss

practical considerations hatched

out of the egg of failure

don't tell me about regrets

it is setting the captives fre...

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Also by jabulani mzinyathi:

sounds of hypocrisy |

Bloody students?

Students are rioting once again

Throwing rocks at the ‘filth’ behind shields

We’ve not seen this since Maggie’s reign

It’s about time the young got political

 

Wait! Well-brought-up students have principles

It can’t be them who attack, smash, sneer

Well-brought-up students, they’re all smiles

It’s such fun protecting their future career

 

But violent rent...

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Also by Antonionioni:

(End of) the golden age | What about Macca (Part 2) | What about Macca? (Part One) | Truth and justice |

Negotiated Leave

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`

 

 

 

 


Be numb to me
get off your knee
cease from demeaning
my esteem for you
with your lucid hate

the hourglass leaks

coloured sand pours
rainbow streaked tears
where the rains bleached
this sunburnt heart
with the acid of your disdain

these wearied hands

no longer reach for yours
your reflection is marred
and the mirror put away
leave me...

Read more …

despairleavinglifesurvival

Flannel

Viewed from below

the world is shallow

 

an irregular trickle

that settles so little

 

time and space just to wallow

and splash a feint shadow

 

to flush out tomorrow

and fashion a tableau

 

in which God and the Devil

by turns pull and tug

 

a perpetual struggle

for control of the plug.

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The Icicles

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The icicles have started to drop
In a reprieve over zero degrees
These daggers, these sharks teeth beneath
Clung to the eaves like frozen feelings
Waiting to reveal
Still whole but diminished, eroded still able to feel
Shadows of themselves they fall- all finished
On the floor, its like they corroded.
The pools make lakes with the lonely
wilting around zero who goaded
Like t...

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Hunting The Great White Prawn

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It started life as a poem called 'The Voyage Of The Prudence', written in 1989 for a bit of amusement only. But then this poem somehow became a stage show called 'Hunting The Great White Prawn': it grew to a hour and and a half in length and involved, as well as its two characters, a band. It got successful around Folk Clubs, Arts Centres, Comedy Clubs and Festivals before imploding due to the ...

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transgressions of a furious mind

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I gaze vacantly, hopefully nodding and grunting in all the right places so as not to lengthen the tirade of mindless idiocy, pitter pattering upon my beleaguered ears, Surely its obvious about my intent to save more brain cells from sleeping to death?

Could anyone be so stupid or unaware?

 

I feel it more with each beat, a volatile uprising within, bubbling rage at such blissf...

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Also by alan barlow:

the ghoul | saturn |

Unwrapping Christmas

On Christmas Eve

when every shop is shut

every thing you ever dreamed of

bought, stacked, unpacked, wrapped

every thing you couldn’t buy a distant memory

everything you meant to buy a shrugged shoulder

every card sent, every penny spent

every child snuggled warm in sleeping bed

 

On Christmas Eve

when every last thing is said and done

there is a speci...

Read more …

Also by Isobel:

Gaudete |

Le Pere Fouettard

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In many countries alongside the concept of Nice Santa who brings gifts for the good boys and girls there also co-exists Nasty Santa who carries a stick for beating the naughty children.  In France he is known as Le Pere Fouettard.

 

 

My Santa you will never see upon your Christmas card,

The counterpart of Pere Noel: his brother, Pere Fouettard.

I know if I’m a good girl tha...

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Also by John Coopey:

70m Dash | Colliers and Kids | The Pit and the Pendulum | Gaspers | One Anglaland | Two Litre Capri |

Christmas Cook's Lament

 (To “Hark The Herald Angels Sing”)


The Christmas pudding’s gone all soggy,

And I’ve burnt the Christmas cake.

The mincemeat’s oozed out of the pies,

It’s all been a big mistake.

The Yule log is one huge joke,

Santa’s sunk into the snow

Upside down – he’s done a bunk,

And the robin, that looks drunk.

I don’t know what we’re to do,

Even the turkey’s g...

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Also by Lynn Dye:

Essex | Oh, For A Modern Man! | Sharing | Ghazal |

Just a moment dear

You're only up the stairs,

moved recently from view,

you hear my happy shout,

and yes, I love you too.

 

Only in our bedroom

putting something right,

frowning in concentration

with sleeves rolled up tight.

 

Capable hands and forearms,

you're smiling at my call,

whistling through your teeth,

tapping on the wall.

 

Only in the next room...

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Also by Alison Smiles:

42nd Noel |

I Am a Little Rabbit

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- I am a little rabbit, hrum - hrum,

I like sweet carrot, hrum - hrum,

I'm like a ferret, hrum - hrum,

Live in a burrow, hrum - hrum,

Though it's narrow, hrum - hrum,

Now I am eating cabbage, hrum - hrum,

It's for my courage, hrum - hrum.

- Dear little rabbit, tell me your habit.

- Hrum - hrum!

-Happy New Year, dear rabbit!

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Also by Larisa Rzhepishevska:

Give Me Your Password | Day And Night (Russian romance) | Friend | A Voice In the Wildness |

Children

La Sombra

I can’t see the light anymore
only the darkness.
In a room full of candles,
I bring the shadows.
 
My mummified heart
beats a dusty thud
inside my chest;
a funeral drum.
 
I am the ghost of Christmas past,
Christmas present
and Christmas future rolled together;
a morbid apparition.
 
I take love
and turn it into misery.
I take ...

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Also by Steven Kenny:

One That Got Away | Revelation |

slithering sediment

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bottomoceanbound transmissions
untamed aggression turns the water black
the patient
commits suicide in the operating theatre
his last action: resisting the anasthetic

the guitar strings break
disrupting the outoftune melodies
the orchestra falls silent amongst the stars
piercing themselves with their instruments;
the musicians lips are sown together

               | nothing
...

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Also by owen calvert:

weed seeds on a cumtissue |

Nick and Dave

 

He's magical

like Elvis.

Like Elvis

not many know

he has a twin.

 

Embreo split like yin and yang

encompassing the universe's majesty.

Death and rebirth.

Light and dark.

Fear and love.

And all that's in-between.

 

One child playful as oompa loompas

all dancing and silly songs.

The other the underside of a scratched CD

and fag...

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Also by Ushiku Crisafulli:

We're All in this Together | Palindrome Girl |

 

I couldn't recite it if I tried

My greatest work

By your standards or mine

For the nature of it's conception

Burned bright like embers

Hot as brimstone.

I wrote all I wrote

 to forget Times of temptation

And tribulations; too great to number

Days overcome by wonder

And pondering with production

Except for abstract bearings

But then again wha...

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Also by Ridge A. Dillard:

Wasted | Never Was | Scars(the poem of life's learning curve) |

What she said

You will miss me

when you are alone, she said,

when the tide of life’s cold wind

freezes about your head

when the sunset burns red

and only you are there to see

when the laughing of the stream

mocks you in your stead

when your arms wrap around nothing

as they search your empty bed

when you melt at seeing a smile

but wake from dreaming it instead

w...

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Also by Dermot Glennon:

Where dragons and maidens are no more |

Romance

Waiting for 'Big'

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Crazy feeling

I’m still alive kicking up a storm

Crash bang bitch talk

Yes oh yes

The sort of talk that I like when I have a mind

Don’t you know?

 

Like you didn’t know

 

Lay me like a blade cold as chrome

Crawdaddy kisses down my spine

They burn like ice

 

Mind and eye filling

Spilling over and over with stingsong

The gone wrong too ...

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Snow at Solstice

 We are snug blanketed under a layer, thick and soft

the wreck of the garden beautified by it

the rooves insulated

gate iron curlicued

thickened in outline

 a stuttering blurred underlining

snow font.

Walking and feeling the tense squeak

unfamiliar gait to ache our thighs

we are un-gendered,

muffled, pillowed

crack of face, eyes skenning

comfort o...

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bloody freezingcolddarkseasonal affective disordersnow

2010 Onward

Here is a very cliche, very self indulgent but sincere poem I wanted to share with all of you. Thanks for reading and commenting on previous poems :-)

 

2010 Onward

 

This year I took the leap of faith

Jumped off a couple of roundabouts

Strolled down a few different avenues

Next year

when the snow has melted on roofs and trees

and birds sit on the wires once ...

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Just a Synechdoche

One evening in the gloaming with the hour approaching late

I heard a sound, just ask my cat, he may corroborate.

I quickly went alfresco, thought I'd better take a look

A crowd of farmers gathered round to watch a donnybrook.

 

One farmer in pyjamas with a rubicund complexion,

Officious and unlaundered too, I thought, on close inspection,

Screamed words so execrable ...

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humour

Carriage For All Seasons

Twas mid the glowing hours....Afore Christmas
That all thoughts aloud ~ Were sent off afar....
Whilst the golden age of silence became ~
An instant.. No longer shunned by the stars...

Whilst the orchestras flight ~ Stood to aloof...
To witness  the gingerly calm of peace....
Amidst the sunset of a candle burning...
Slating the shadowy cloaks with decease...
 
 Embrace Ye...

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Christmas

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God could have sent his Son

a million different ways.

But look at what he chose.

I'll tell you what it says.

 

It says open your hearts,

It says be generous and free,

Look outside your little box

That's what he's saying to you and me.

 

Mary was not respectable,

Pregnant before she was wed.

Open your hearts to unmarried mothers.

That's really ...

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Also by Dave Bradley:

unwanted wants | Shopping Ghazal | Daily Battle | Where are You? | Shahla Jahed is dead |

You better watch out!

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
But don’t feel contented instead please beware,
Because soon that old creep Santa Claus will be there.

I know what you’re thinking ‘he’s just a kind old man’
But don’t let him fool you, you know that’s his plan.
Therefore it is only my duty to suggest ways to divert,
The ma...

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Hero

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Once-upon-a-time, a barman worshipped the Sun.

Worked nights so didn’t see much of it

but in his head he’d got stories of

the Fire God supreme,

Blaze Lord,

vanquishing monsters who'd eat out your dreams.

 

He called the Sun ‘Hero’,

believed it had six pairs of arms,

giant wings of flame

and the handsomest nose in the galaxy.

Made moons blush

and g...

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alcoholanxietybarbedbeliefbenefitscontactdepressiondoledominic berrydragondreamdrinkdrunkfaithflapjackflatfreed upgaygodgreenroomheroilljoblight sabermoonnightperformancepoempoetpubqueersicksleepstarstar warsstresssuntheatreunemployedveganvegetarianwizardworkworship

American Dream

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I was travelling in America in October and while I was there I did this poem at Chicago's famous Uptown Poetry Slam, 'where slam began', which was a fab night, go there if you can! Well I had to didn't I? This poem is about my fascinations and contradictions about that great nation, partly why I was there. (The photo is me, there, honest, just taken on my rubbish mobile.)

 

American Dre...

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Endgame

Out there we have a world.

 

I doubt myself, my hands like lace,

pale anaemic whispers, and touch the air.

 

It is heavy like a pallbearer’s lung,

it is, where my eye meets, rust.

 

“Remember me” - What youth I have!

Thin and untidy, knotted and Ophelia,

 

under my fingernails, and innate,

leaping out of my throat. Unkissed.

 

There are ...

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Also by Marianne Daniels:

Rhombus | The Yell Room | The Ask of Conversation |

Ravenous

Ravenous

 

Hungry for:

Power,

 

Religion’s been hijacked.

But some people will nick anything if it’s not nailed down.

 

Communication,

 

Fibre-optic means

Sound is light, light is sound.

So, does the sun stuff notes with Helium and let them go?

Lord let them soar; they’re too fly not to fly.

God never whispers.

 

Life,

 

Ti...

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Infinity Station

entry picture

 

We would like to advise customers that all lines will eventually converge,
This is a product of the linear nature of time and is only to be expected.

Time works differently here,
It passes with a metal buzz that you only hear,
If you listen for it.
Stop thinking for a minute and it was never there.
We all stop thinking eventually.

Stand well back from the platform edge,
An unfo...

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Also by Ian Hayles:

Once More I Turn Into the Hare |

Percy

I never met you
but can imagine you
stood there even now
in your uniform
with your slightly bent cap.
 
I never looked up at you
growing up
and said with a wide eyed
innoncence
you were almost
as a big as a tree
(All 6 foot 4 of you).
 
Never served beside you
through the mud in Burma
which must have been
hell to crawl through
before being transferred
possibly against your choic...

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The gaps between hope

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Lucid dreaming eyes
move slowly.
His lashes fall
shyly;
a shimmer of smile
humming the distance.

 

Two silhouettes fall
apart - laughing
in outside smog air.

 

His hands small
manicured precisely
delicate with brush,
his frame fixed
yet evolving

 

through doors that swing
sometimes shut.

 

His heartbeat a tree surgeon says
sounds like a ...

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untitled

The lack of poetry is symbolic of the deadness of soul i have felt, Since we have been no longer 'us', Mourning the love of a caring hand calming the head rush, My tears fall within now, And only surface when the vessel is flooded, I cant afford to think, So my movements are accelerated, Because i know if i stop the feeling will kill me, I miss the kiss in the morning, The saftey of arriv...

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Sh*t Christmas

Wake up christmas morning
Force myself out of bed.
The happy day is dawning
And my head's full of dread.

Walk downstairs, the house is cold
And you're a sorry sight
Looking about 100 years old.
Was it just another fight?

There are gifts under the tree
But no one gives a sh*t
False smiles show no ounce of glee
Is this really it?

It's not the gifts that we don't like
...

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Also by MissLucy:

Snowflake |

Lines written in theTudor House on the 30th Anniversary of the death of John Lennon

entry picture

Lines written in the Tudor House on the 30thAnniversary of the death of John Lennon

 

Hey Johnnie

You hook-nosed bastard

You made specs sexy

And played a mean Rickenbacker

Attention seeking nihilist

Gob shite scouser

Merciless poison-tongued delinquent

Hiding the quiet man inside

To my dad’s amazement

You grew up and flew away

Sharing your dreams

...

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Transmission Error

deep in the darkness
no light reflects
from the gaps in-between
particles manifest
for a fraction of a second
or maybe less
still the void's defiled
gods head pushed aside

golden eyes blaze
as the serpent awakes
scattering rainbows
from his scales
blue shifts to red
and lights your face
as you hold your breath
and dive through space

the universe moves
as you stay stationary
to watch the stars
iridescen...

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sci fi science fiction philosophy scientific death

Keep Fighting

Keep Fighting
by, Melissa R. Mendelson

A long time ago,
I was told
to give up
the dream,
and I listened.
A long time ago,
it was suggested
that I find a man
to take me home
and make me his wife.
This would be the life
for me,
but it was not the future
I had in mind.
I wanted to fly.
I wanted my dreams
to breathe the air
that we take for granted.
I wanted ...

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Kissed

 

 

Full on the lips

My heart was kissed

Gentle tongues,

Pushing against

Feelings long

Held tight

Thoughts flooding

Upon this watershed

Their gentle flow

carried me

to reveal a new

understanding  of love

 

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Also by Shoeless Carole:

Silver |

Tax the Rich

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There is trouble in the nursery.

The children ask for more.

They are climbing up the curtains.

They are stamping on the floor.

Nanny State is spanking them.

She weilds her wooden spoon,

But the children run about her.

They are crying for the moon.

 

Why don’t they eat their porridge up?

They call for toast and egg.

Where has their pocket money gone?

...

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Triolet de la Petite Mort

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I know the places to caress

and kiss you to your little death

I'll slip my hand inside your dress

I know the places to caress

Let me alleviate your stress

until you pulse and catch your breath

I know the places to caress

and kiss you to your little death.

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Signature

entry picture

I make my mark on the world

not large but big enough

no highlight, fame nor fortune

but written bold with love.

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Someday soon..who knows..maybe.

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What is this mental condition 'depression' that has befriended me so well ?

I feel part of the belonging yet I do'nt really belong here

Is this person really me ?

She seems so different, she seems lost in the confusion of this illness

I want to find my way out of here

I want to be away from this 'depression' and be myself again...

 

someday soon..

who knows..

...

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Also by bernadette herbertson:

Short and sweet |

Dilute to Taste

Undeniable stupidity brands, mutters a hopeful fear
as the scotch of mankind whoops its need.
Yet you still flip if I touch.

I want you to hear those fragile, conditioned moments
fall as easily as you pospone the unobtainable,
where dry, unkept promises ash, furl to old desire.

Thoughts stray, form a mumbled nuisance.
Unbidden truths urge me to pour your gibberish
thr...

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November 2010 Stats

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Here are the stats for November 2010.

    * 4,025 registered members

    * 1.9 million hits

    * 2,629 log-ins to the site

    * 128 new events put on gig guide

    * 63 events updated on gig guide

    * 15 poets added their profiles to the Poets' Showcase

    * 834 Poets are now on the Showcase

    * 237 poets' profiles where updated on the showcase

    * 2,448  ‘comments’ w...

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stats

Football

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When you wake up right in the middle of a cold cold night

and there's no such a thing as a warm blue light

with hardly anyone around

yet you're still loved

your dreams-

justified

it really seems

your life is made of dreams

we breathe, neither awake nor asleep

our world falling apart, yet there's football on TV

with all there is to come - just how shall an...

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angelasleepblue lightchristmasdreamsfootball

Job Interview Tip

All the way through the job interview I

desperately wanted to shout out the word

‘cunt’ very loudly. I don’t know why

but I did. I wanted to

spit it, hiss it,

scream it out in my interviewers’ faces.

I wanted to howl and growl and

bark it. I wanted them all

to know. But

I never. I just

sat there thinking:

‘cunt, cunt, cunt!’

And it’s the fact that

...

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Also by David Mac:

Perfecto |

Unlikely Hero

 

Clumsy Language

Trips over its shoelaces

swears and lights another fag,

cracks open a can and blurs its own edges.

 

Disorganisation and bad planning

hold hands, stand brashly

interfering with the chairs.

Agitation twitches fingertips,

paces itself out

shouts to be heard in the quietest space.

 

The security guard

working hard to feel ...

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Also by Emma McCourty:

Too Much Too Young |

Should Have Said

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I should have said I love you; I should have said I care.

I should have said I want you and I really need you here.

I should have said I waited when you were not around,

And I anticipated the moment to be found.

 

I should have said I cried for you a million times or more.

I should have said I died for you; a phoenix still at war.

I should have said I long for you an...

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