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I Thought I Was Different

 I Thought I was Different

 

 

 

Mum’s lined face,

Slightly smiling

Thus betrays

Inner feelings;

Buried rage.

 

Never, I swore,

Never for me

The pain, the torment –

Long shadows I see

Casting dark clouds of loathing

Over every last reach

Of faint hopes of

A calmer, brighter day.

 

I thought I’d escaped

Those hurtf...

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Also by Dorinda MacDowell:

The Two Sides of Pride | A Little Touch of Heaven |

Dinner With Alison Ennis' Parents (Not The First, But Definately The Last)

Dinner with the teenage in-laws was always such a delight.

New, exotic food

and none of your beans on toast pish,

it was chicken kievs all 'round.

But, on this day

it was different.

You see, whilst Mrs E was slaving in the kitchen

I was thinking of another chef

I just couldn't remember his name.

I tried

I tried

I tried!

I just could not remember h...

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Villanelle of Clifford's Tower

For nine hundred years we’ve turned our faces

From wretched York– the gesture marks its shame,

Concealing this greatest of disgraces.

 

The city no longer now embraces

Its son of York – Malebrisse was his name;

The citizens of York turn their faces.

 

He urged them baying with swords and maces,

A screaming mob intent to kill and maim

The brethren – the di...

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Also by John Coopey:

The Battle of Stamford Bridge | Piggies | The Plays of William Shakespeare | Will He Come Back With His Tail Between His Legs? | Cliffords Tower 1190 | Caesura |

New poem: Notes From A Dying Taxpayer

 

I'd always wanted to see Africa but

 

BANG

I was born at a starting pistol

Risk all?

No need

It's all set out crystal clear

Heed the fear

It's pure instinct

Keep busy

Keep your head down

Like rabbits building warrens

A life of tunnel vision

Listened to everything I was told

You gotta grow up

Or there's no point in getting...

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Grey Magic

 

Grey magic is the next big thing
used at a party it could makes things swing
Plenty of spells to make guests relax
and one to stop the Chancellor charging us tax

Grey magicians can hide well in the mist
and send fog your way when you are kissed
so privacy will become your friend
until you call for clearer air again

A subtle blend of black an...

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Also by Dave Dunn:

Man Still Ponders | Blue Planet | This Life will Pass Swiftly | Hellections | Palestine... | Roses Are Red |

whimsy

JAZZ POETRY NIGHTS LONDON

 Jazz Poetry Nights at Pangea Project, Stoke Newington, London.

Opposite Morrisons, ST PATRICK'S DAY, 17th March....

 

1-Jonny Virgo: Hip hop artist- promoting his new CD

2-Ira Menin: Italian R & B and jazz singer (pictured right)

3-Brother Niyi: Afro Beat poet and percussionist

4-Ogmios- Local Stoke Newington hip hop poet

5-Tunes Under Fire- Free jazz guitar and sax...

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JazzPoetryFreddy MachaPangea ProjectBrother NiyiIra MeninJonny VirgoUrsula TTunes Under Fire

Blood Ties (Part 1): Death in the Fog

The streets of old London are shrouded in fog
Like the catarac wasted eyes of an old man
I walk the night alone and fearless
the frozen air clings to me like a dead lover

I am not a candidate for crime.
Those who roam these streets after dark
Know better than to steal from me
I am notorious, feared.  A creature of the night.

So when I see you birthed from the haze
A smal...

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Also by Steven Kenny:

The Art of War | Thoughts on Travelling | Need. | 3rd Day | 2nd Day | Only Child | Give Yourself To Me | On Guernica | In Between The Raindrops | Light | Ennui | A Day At The Beach | Outside the Box |

Blood Ties

night terrors

I thought i was dreaming.
The light that crept under the door was shifting,
someone was there.

A sudden creak, out there, startled me
and i drew my knees up for protection.
Pleading silently, to no-one, to myself.

As he came around the door,
silhouetted by naked light,
my heart sank.

I wasn't dreaming.

Read and leave comments (1)

windy day

The wind’s busy today.

It bustles and hurries

flipping bin lids

as it goes.

 

The wind’s forgetful today.

It rushes past me,

can’t remember where it’s going,

turns back

and rushes past me

again.

 

The wind’s playful today.

Stripping the leaves off the trees

to leave them naked.

 

The wind’s chatty today

laughing and giggling

...

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Also by Ann Foxglove:

delft | loving you | the heart it smells of iron | Dance round the kitchen - it's Sunday! | cold feet | Ladybird Ladybird | WRECKING BALL | fox dreaming | Cornish Holiday | Gemma | Valentine's Day Blues | Chinese new year poem of the highly sexual rabbit and the ill-matched dragon. | egg | collision course | Love and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance | BIKE | avocado | unrequited | coromandel | Wolf Rock | bath time | JESSIE | The Candle Game | Botany | masturbation song | incantation |

I have seen Elvis in my mirror...

I have seen Elvis in my mirror.

Not the blue-black-haired sexy Elvis:

piercing eyes, taut skin reflecting the neon of a setting southern sun,

but the other one.

 

Fat, pig jowled.

cheeks like slabs of something dead.

Eyes like fish,

surprised to be set in something quite so bloated.

Left in a jar too long.

 

 My lips hang loose

as if too tired to ...

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Also by Rachel McGladdery:

Protection Poem | Poppy - Columbine - Tortola. | Death Comes To Fleetwood | Ronan Kitting | My Dead Dad | Dead Language. | For You. |

Elvis

lamp light

Lamp light

 

This morning

The street lights taste fiery,

Warming deep,

The burnt orange sauce

Powering me with energy.

 

Wind beats a steady maraca shake in the bushes

Drumming power into each step,

I hold its force

With tightly clenched fists.

 

In the darkness

Between each glistening luminescence

Pavements harshness ricochets feet hi...

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a plane themed poem

THEY WERE

They were boys going over the top to die

in their tens of thousands in the mud of the Somme.

Nazi youth best in the world bar none,

proved wrong over wide steppes of Mother Russia.

Hurricane pilots fighting Japan over Ceylon, Burma, Imphal,

lost pilots barely 21 made men in lonely cockpits.

Red Chinese boys laid bare bone bloody

against Yankee lines, hu...

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Also by NICK ARMBRISTER:

based on some events... | a horror poem | mad poem2 | a mad poem... | oh la la lol! | poem, new, has some of my women shenanigans from today in. |

CHRIS WOOD (after his appearance at the Westy)

 

While listening I couldn't get my head round the fact

that Andy played drums with the Spice Girls

that Robert used to slide his trombone outside hospitals

that Barney takes his cello to open fields

and that Chris (who released his first solo album in 2005) failed his 11+.


 

The generous sounds are being driven in a 4X4

to Mars where the electric motor (it's ...

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Also by Rodney Wood:

I WANT TO TELL YOU ABOUT A MAN |

Grail

A soup of earth, gloating thick against a sprint,
slues the archaeologist, and ranks a shadowy elbow
above head and heart,
 
trilling, thrilling, distilling vocalyptic egos
traipsing on severed toes beguiling
 
a patterned plateau to follow.
 
Some calluses can be Creationists; strapping laughter
on a cello, a handsome young devil in the shroud of armadil...

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Also by Marianne Daniels:

The House Outside and Other Stories | Wallpaper | Photograph Mafia | Albatross |

Cigarettes

You cling to me

In my hair and clothes

Through my teeth

Burning the back of my throat

Filling me

With your sweet sick scent

You make my fingers itch,

It wasn’t the same when you went.

I know how very bad you are

I want you

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Also by Emma Robinson:

She Waits in the Dark |

Birdsong

Birdsong

tweet tweet not twitter

Birdsong

dance of death 

Birdsong

ashes to ashes

the fire flames

birdsong

I rise I rise.

Read and leave comments (2)

Also by Beulah:

To TC and the loud writers | Valentine's Day- A Little Folly | Me Myself and I----A Mermaids Song |

lifereal life

pest inspection

10am on a wednesday
off sick from work

feels like there's a
cheesegrater
in the back of my throat

if you have educated nostrels
you could smell remnants of hashmoke
making yr nosehairs tingle n' sway

bong is hidden, ashtray stashed away,
(as per the smoking ban 1st july 2007)

the plants in my windowsil are all dead
plucked rotting leaves and stems
are stacked...

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Also by owen calvert:

husk of dust |

some men treat women like

Some men are like animals

When it comes to love.

Depraved they crave women

Eating them up like cannibals.

Some men are hopeless romantics

they see love as an escape from monotony

They want a family and wait for the right woman to arrive.

Some men are cowards they hide from love

Because they can’t stand rejection.

They have no strategy

I fall into that cat...

Read and leave comments (0)

Also by Daniel Hooks:

The watcher | romantic distance |

Shakespeare Poem

Here's a poem about William Shakespeare, inspired by the play I've been writing about.  It would be interesting to know what you make of it.  In these days of Internet piracy, I still think it's relevant.

His Name was William Shakespeare
 
In harsh Elizabethan times
There lived a famous writer
Creating stories with his rhymes
A poet of the theatre
A man concealed in ...

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Also by Alain English:

Second Skin Theatre Blog: Rehearsal Record 18/02/2010 | Second Skin Theatre Blog - Interview with Director Andy McQuade | Second Skin Theatre - Cast Interviews | Note on Blog Entries | Second Skin Theatre blog: Interview with Don Fried | Future Gigs |

If I Could

                                                  

                                              

I look at your face

Small and innocent

And my heart bleeds

For what this world

Will do to you.

     I want to wrap you

     Close in my love

     Hold you safe

     In my heart

     Throw a shield

     Around your innocence

     Guard your preciou...

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Also by Cate:

Let`s Hear It For Music |

About Jamaica

He lights his cigarette, I prepare to share it,

just so his lungs could see less tar. 


He’s in a reflective mood; I can tell by the way
the flame emerged from his lighter
red and tenderly squirmed like a worm in a furnace.

He holds my gaze as the flame faints back in its tank
drags on the cigarette, slowly tilts his head back. 

I ever tell you the story about the mang...

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Poe JazziPiPJamaicaAboutpoetrypoetRaymond Antrobuspoem

Viento Norte

 

I would whisper the wind

to tangle your locks,

to tease your hair into a web

that entraps my fingers

that entraps my whispered wishes.

Let your hair be a tapestry of

my words

words spoken as your mouth

is watched,

watched while I whisper the words

to you.

I will watch your mouth smile

the words 

and let the Viento Norte

whisper t...

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Also by Tommy Carroll:

A degree of separation: A degree of change | I see the future |

The Reluctant Volunteer

My dad, no hero, didn't look

for punch-ups. When the call came

he signed for the pay corps. 

But the look on his face

sometimes got him into bother.

 

He couldn't quite stomach the drilling,

or hide what he thought

of the shouts, the how's your father, 

the moustache and tiny eyes,

the whole bloody rigmarole of the sergeant major. 

 

One night in ...

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soldiersarmywar

My Garden of Words.

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the secret

 

 

the secret is wonderful, beautiful, cute as can be

 

what would they say if telling them "I love you..." in my own way

 

how can telling them without embarrassing them of the feelings the heart has for them

 

its impossible to control the emotions with the feelings inside 

 

deciding wether if telling them would be wise

 

would they laugh or r...

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Also by JEFF.W:

which one my dearest? | the meal | what shall i have? | to be..... | doing my bit.... | four wheels and an engine | the sign.... |

Time at your Disposal

I've now edited a little and made a couple of changes with due thanks for the feedback.

 

Earth revolves on its axis

tumbling snow on forgotten lands

 

Solar kisses melting ice-caps

flooding plains and barren sand

 

forging rivers :  enriching soil

feeding crops in another

 

forgotten land

Remember how it was before

evolution can save the poor

...

Read and leave comments (0)

The Life-Cycle of a Firestone




Wow!

We see a Firestone

see how it stays.

It’s thoughts are secret-whispers

to it’s facts.

                       A speech act!

It writes them down in others-

a mirror

a Mobius-strip.

‘It’s not half the story by half’

it says

with air

intoned as prayer is.

Stores as an appendix to memory

as though it were cutting for...

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Snow place to cone

Snowplace likes home

Home like snowplace I know

Fireplace replace ice space

And snowplace in this cone

Take the particle of this icicle

And know your own home

A rash, a thaw…freeze-frame

Crows claw

Snowplace likes thaw

 

In this eye-gravel of frost

Hand becomes raw

Tears become acid

Breath becomes more

Heavy pulse in the crunch-step

Th...

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Also by Moira Eribenne:

Midges in my head | You gave me flowers.. |

The Loneliness of the Long Distance Poet

 

In a crowded Kilburn pub

minutes before the gig,

the ache sneaked in.

 

I’m squirreled into a corner,

nested down, trying to order

scattered thoughts

 

into precise columns.

It isn’t working.

As I sip sparkling water

 

my eye is drawn outside by

a green Ford Focus

crawling across the window.

 

My spirit teleports home;

an...

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The Man With A Cloud For His Head

The man with a cloud for his head

Had a face that constantly changed

and morphed

and transmogrified.

But sadly, one day, he was killed

by a zephyr.

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Communion

Communion


Grayly, unfocused,

I left the highway for the graveyard

Of the summer corn;

Away from bizarre headlights dissecting

The wet twilight,

Into the sharp stubble where

A dank wind rattled the bones

Of harvest.


From the invisible grass

A mottled rabbit with drooping ears

Padded around the puddles

And disappeared again

Into...

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Also by Cynthia Buell Thomas:

Vanilla Sex | Children of Despair |

I Watch As You Become A Woman

I watch as you become a woman
Shedding your girlish skin before me
I stand at the bar, ordering our drinks
And I melt, as you're easier now
Confident and comfortable with everyone
Such growth since those teenage years

Carrying yourself as a woman does
You pick me up from the office
Still in your laboratory scrubs
So articulate and so composed
While I slump my twisted, wir...

Read and leave comments (1)

Also by Tom:

One of Us Was Right to Leave |

Renewal

She stood there, alone.

Stripped naked, bare, fearful

of a solitary stare.

Frozen momentarily on the threshold

of that first tentative step,

out of the warm embrace of the darkness

into the soulless glare

of an abyss of nothingness.

One, that stretched endlessly,

inviting yet threatening.

Filled with bright infinite possibility,

darkened by the hidden...

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Machino ( A Sestina)

My uncle leaned towards me, marble teeth

Piano keys, his face too tight, too round,

With trembling hands, I took the glass machino,

Into which I gazed with awe and wonder;

Whirling wheels and shiny cogs all turning,

Driven by a coiled bronze spring and sprocket.

 

Mesmerised for hours I watched that sprocket;

Its gleaming metal polished razor teeth;

Power fro...

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sestina

Climate change change

Climate change attitudes change with the times

Though 'The Times' still maintains we're warming up

The East Anglia emails seemed to chime

With sceptics' views of a big cover-up

Manipulation of data let slip

By a concerned hacker; now it's out there

Suspicion that vested interests corrupt

The science; banks sniff floating in the air

Carbonated bubbles: they want t...

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Letting Go of the Lotus Flower (14\\2/10)

 

A flower in the darkness;

You chose the light not me.

Little did I know,

I would find myself surrounded

by words of another language.

I dwelt in my cave

You hid beneath your garments;

Yes, we were right for one another.

 

A poem for you, my darling

in a form you should recognise

But all the same, no superior emotion

Love no greater, no mor...

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Defense Of The Drunken Poet


Late in June we went out 
To gaze at the moon on the water.
I told the story of Li Po, 
Who died, it's supposed, 
Leaning from his boat 
Trying to embrace it's silver glow.

How foolish, you said,
With world famous 
Female disgust for folly,
Seeing only the great life
Eclipsed by drunken idleness.

I stayed...

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Going Tits Up

He thinks she’s great but she’s a cheap shot slag

Leaves my flat smelling like a tranny’s handbag

Since upgrading to a D cup she’s far from shy

Put your silicone away Love, you’ll have out my eye

This image of his perception is a total farse

She’s even rougher than SuBo’s arse

I want to be wing girl and set him up with a beauty

I miss us high fiving when he scores wi...

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Detective Novel


There was nobody else here
the body said
without leaving any clues
like a detective novel would.

There was no cold murder
with the thrust of
a steel knife
and no silent voilence
that stung in the night.

This body lay there un-found
with a zen like silence
for long than it could remember
staring at the moon-light
the sun-light
and then the moon-light again
fo...

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detectivemurderimagemanchester

Fate's favoured hand

I'm sure I told this to all,

Beneath the grey-silver sky,

I knew what the cost would likely be,

Forsaking all for the path to be free,

But, to this day, I'm not sure why.

 

The midnight sighing wind swirls,

In the red-gold orichalcum world,

And of all the natural splendours here,

That someone could hold me most dear,

I feel deeply humbled, the least to sa...

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Also by Joshua Van-Cook:

A killer above the law |

The Syllable Sestina

SYLLABLE SESTINA
I haven't posted anything for a few days because I've been busy with this new craze - The Syllable Sestina, which I first saw on Tiel Aisha Ansari's blog 
She of course is brilliant at them, you only have to read her regular sestina's to find the depth and breadth of her capabilities.

COMPETITION                                                                           ...

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sestinasyllable sestinaFork off

Crazy week, 4 gigs in 3 days...

Gigging this week at

RAW GEMS (30 mins) Zenith Bar, London

BEAT, Peter Parkers Bar Soho, London

Rich Mix with Apples & Snakes & Featuring with  TV Smith at the Poetry Cafe, London

Get in touch if you're in town.

I'll do the poem in the audio attachment here as well as my current 'hit' as here:

Boy Toy

 

I’m happy to be your plaything

A am your sex toy

It ...

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Performance PoetsLondonpoem

Feelings on my car being broken into

Emasculation would be too good for the little bastards
 
is the immediate feeling
 
followed by
 
Flagellation would be too good for the little turds 
 
The birch, the stocks, wonderful ideas
Why did we get rid of them?
 
But
There's always a but isn't there.
 
This is actually getting me nowhere
Beating the air
chasing shadows
wasting venom on boys
on their ...

Read and leave comments (7)

Also by Dave Bradley:

Hospital | Kids in a cemetery |

Upon The Quality Of Love

Romeo  Romeo - where for art thou Romeo?

Speak that I should hear your voice, rejoice

that deafened ear should hear you call my name…

_____________

 

The quality of love is not defined,

yet trippeth from the tongue with gentle ease,

to each and every one of us a meaning

as fickle as the feather on a breeze

 

Speak not to me, I pray, of star crossed lovers...

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Also by Isobel:

WRITE OUT LOUD OUTSTANDING POEM FOR JANUARY |

love sonnet

Third Sonnet

The Taliban of Christianity,

Are guardians of our nation’s moral health,

Protecting men from femininity,

They worship pomp, and privilege, and wealth.

They disapprove of how and whom we love,

Deny our civil right to earn a crust,

To work in schools for our Lord above,

Those bigots trample freedom in the dust.

No paedophiles then, in the Church of Rome?

In Opu...

Read and leave comments (1)

sonnetslovefreedomequalityfraternitybigotrytaliban

The Tree

 

Once this fine tree graced a forest.

Natures noble green giant.

Birds nested and played amongst the leaves.

Searched for insects in the tough brown bark of the tree

Safe and secure in its green canopy.

Whilst berries and nuts in abundance during summer

Sustained many, through the harsh cold of the dark winter months.

 

Squirrels lived aloft, high above the...

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Tree

Christian Act

snatched away that Christ of ours
how dare they hold his name
the four by two, the horn ed beast
mired in the finance game
do not degrade the grace of God
you evil, bitter brood
now pay the price, and darkly skulk
your pratices pursued
children of the Satan go
and wear the golden sign
too many centuries have passed
long now you've had your time
hide the beards, confine y...

Read and leave comments (0)

Also by Christopher Dawson:

Sundae Afternoon | Regale Regalia | Hidden Joy | G'day Fromelles |

Poem 'Airborne' (Sang by Antony Owen & Jacob Roberts)

In memory of Private Jeff Doherty of Airborne Parachute Reg.

Read and leave comments (5)

warsacrifice

Claw and Bloody Nail

I wear my Fathers temper

Like a belt

Tight about me

A

 Fight about me wherever I go

I wear my Father’s second sight

Looking both left and right

So that I might know just exactly

Where you have been

And

 Who you’ve seen

And

More importantly

Where all of this is leading to

 

 

Suspicion

Oh

The agony

Raw

Claw and blo...

Read and leave comments (5)

Also by Gus Jonsson:

A Thousand Oceans |

What Makes a Man King - Zweluthini

                        What Makes a Man King – Zweluthini?

 

 

            We loved you from way back

In history, revered your warriors and your wives,

We demonstrated outside international embassies,

During days of Apartheid,

We loved your culture your history

And traditions,

We envied all of Africa for its Peoples,

That love is still within our hearts

...

Read and leave comments (0)

Also by Noetic-fret!:

Those That Can; Teach. | Balkan Winter |

Show more entries …

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