Poetry Blogs (Oct 2012)

Popular last 30 days


They must be regarded

as the first apple picker and taster.

Had they not been and gone and done so

we might not have had to sadly write the sign-

"here live monsters"

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a poet warns

speaks of things to come

that were

or ought to be

in perfect worlds



in a perfect world

who needs the words

of oracles or seers

or out and out opinionists



our transient world

our imperfect ways

our grain of dust in space

an outcome that is blurred

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Also by Philipos:


Halloween Is Here

Halloween is here tonight, and all will seek to brave a fright,
as people come and people go, wherever pumpkins are on show...

The sweets are rattling in the tin, what flavours are to be had within,
and who has worn the scariest mask, as midnight comes that's what we ask…

Back home the children all wear smiles, their feet aglow from walking miles,
and as they drink some heated milk, i...

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Circle jerk



I’ve read most of the

Great poets,

From such and such to

So and so,

Some have left me

Burning with admiration,

Inspired me

When I’ve been

At my lowest,

And I’m grateful to them

For that.


Today there are lots

Of people

Who call themselves


It’s a grand title,

And many are happy

To claim it,

But there ...

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Also by mike watts:

Cheers! |

At the vets


At the vets


On the way uncle’s jokes pester our silence

like flies on a wound .

Parking I observe a woman with wag appearance leading

her perky little terrier towards the surgery doors

as if showing  it at ‘Crufts’.

We tenderly assist our elderly Airedale off the back seat.

In the waiting room, the woman’s slender body has caught me out,

her pretty fa...

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these morphed illusions

entry picture

What are we to do
about spectres in the mirror?

Pray tell, before they rise -
filling-in memories
of film noir and poetry,
dark or brooding -
states of alienation;
blaring piano forte
of shadowy symphonics:
inimitable contrivances.
Whip out the shammy & Windex;
wipe clean these morphed illusions.


Please make your response or comment on my profile pa...

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A Friend of A Friend

I’m not a mourner, not even a friend

Just a friend of a friend, been asked to attend


I never knew my friend’s late friend

So it seems kind of strange that I should be here at his end


I feel out of place, not being a friend

And the tears of his loved ones mean nothing to me


I should be moved by all this emotion

But I’m starting to think: should I hav...

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Also by Steve:

My Dying Day | Dancing | A Schoolboy From Nineteen sixty-eight |


When somebody else called

You turned up after all this time. It was a wet afternoon. You were probably feeling as lonely as I was. Little was I to know what you would take with you when you left.
We both dug up old memories in between watery eye contacts over raised tea cups.
Memories I have used for when I am held in staring through the window at windblown leaves or rainfall....

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Horror Horror

horror  horror

clown with  face of a puppet

puppet with the face of a clown


horror horror

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Also by mark littler:

meditations on the tor of Ness |

... in ancient woodland.

entry picture


I feel safe here
It is the bluebell wood I ran through
With my father.

The boy at school
Who passed me a note beneath the
Wooden desk.

I am happy here.
It is the fresh posy of fuschias
I take to grandad’s house.

It is my father.
It is the journey to the graveyard
To visit his parents.





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Also by Mikhail Smith:

the middle dot indicated part of a complete thought | “Darling! Are you in the bath?” | .. extract from my first morning ... | Small Picture depicting a Hydrographic Draughtsman 5” x 3”. | School Music Class with their Violins. |

Dubstep Poetry 1

I told you,

I warned you,

I gave the bearings of my soul,


Now it’s come to pass,

Everyone is caught within

The reckonings of the gods,


Not one is safe,

Not one soul who stays

Complicit in corruption,

Maybe now,

You’ll recognise the loss.




Music and words by Mike Robinson

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Also by Noetic-fret!:

Utility of War; 360 Degrees of Conflict | Why This Life | Angel Fire | Romero Plays for Keeps |

Teeth or Latin?

entry picture

Five years of bleeding Latin

Not even five minutes

on avoiding bleeding gums.

Nothing on plaque or bacteria attack,

Just dominus, domine, dominum.

Or amo, amas, amat.

A language in which you can't chat.

Nothing about drilling or filling.

I am not a polyphyodont

I needed info dental.

Latin drove me mental.

Trying to be like public schools


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Also by Dave Bradley:

How can a blind person use the NHS bowel cancer screening kit? | Days | Grey Ford Transits |

To Unknow is to Dream

Hey friends


 My latest entry was inspired by a debate I had with some friends recently.The basic principle of this was the theory that you would be happier uneducated than if you knew everything. The theory that Ignorance is bliss.


 So enjoy the poem and if you would like to comment your thoughts on the subject then please do.


To Unknow is to dream

Knowledge is p...

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Also by Matt Tilke:

Sands |


Old Pathways

Old Pathways


I went one last time into Venice,

I rode there on mystical dreams,

By the deepest lagoon of my aging,

I was ripping my life at its seams.


It’s not now that things really matter,

What matter I’ll see this no more,

What matter one last crimson sunset,

What matter this hard bolted door.


I looked without envy or malice,

I held n...

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Mind Men


Mind Men

Men with brilliant minds fought a war in the ether, fighting an invisible war.

Using maths to crack enemy codes of unbelievable complexity.

Making sure they were never found out.

Enigma and Lorenz were cracked by pure brain power.

Mathematics being the power of intelligence, enemy codes saying everything.

Hidden no more.

Lists of army units and air for...

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ACRONYM | We out of my Berlin Tokyo War Hearts book | Berlin Tokyo Warhearts book... | TUNNEL | YEARS GO BY | TELEPHONE SURREALITY | AUTUMN SKYSCAPE | Road to Damascus |

codes and crackingcomputermathsmind powersecret war



The truth is both of us
we come one,
two energies brought together as a positive force.
I bend the realistic to be close to you,
spending days love sick
holding out my hands
& sprouting wings to fly toward your highest limits.

I pray
our energy never dies with us.

Under A Pale Moon

It's the nights that are the worst
when all that exiles me from these s...

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Also by Memoir.:

Underneath My Midnight. | City.of.Snakes |

Quills Review

Quills by Doug Wright
Staged by Second Skin Theatre
White Rabbit Cocktail Club
October 17th - November 11th
Review by Alain English on 27th October 2012
After their West End debut with Mario Vargas Llosa's "La Chunga" last year, Second Skin Theatre raise the bar up another level with this production Doug Wright's "Quills".  There will be some in the audience fami...

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The wreck of Shipman

Read all about it.Read all about it,Shipman is dead,

Like deadly diamorphine through his victims ,the news quickly spread.

Tying a bed sheet to a bar in his prison cell,

Hanged himself,cheating his sentence,no more to tell.


Trusted by his patients mainly old and needy,

What made him do it?Was he "death" greedy?

A glutton for killing, enjoying the power,


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Also by hugh:

Con seeded !! | "Bryan "and the lioness | Margaret Thatcher | In the classroom | Clever Heather | Prednisolone---It works for me. | Wayne's pain | Female brains !!! | Car Trouble ! | The hooker !! | A knife changing experience | Reduce the vat !!! | In the classroom | Life in the slow lane | Pandemonium in the playground | Fred's dilemma | Declan the miser | 4-letter words ! | Deed of the day! | Tentless !! | Bronislow Kowalski | Zulu the zebra |

Wedding Day

Stood alone
grounded by grey rock
papoosed tight in your arms
an altar before the Atlantic
commanding, tumulus ocean
serves as our priest


Two shells
brought from sandy shelter
where we consummated our love
gives us two rings to keep
fraught, fragile commitment
regardless of reality


You whisper
echoed by breaking wave
“Just you and me against the world...

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Also by Katy Megan Hughes:

The Cottage | Crossing | Reality Check |

Irelandlovelove poemlove poetry

Racist Is As Racist Does

entry picture



Can a man sing

And not be a singer?

Can a man run

And not be a runner?

Can a man steal

And not be a thief?

Can a man kill

And not be a killer?

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Also by John Coopey:

Cat Nap | Karma | Facebook | Men - A Haikupi |

However it may seem.



Like a fish out of water, that analogy.

Why does it sometimes always apply to me

When I try to say that simple phrase today?

Why do I always feel that you won't believe me

When you know my feelings, and there's no deceit

You say "I know you do", if my  words make it through.


Sometimes it seems a little bit easier now,

But I still can't say it anyhow...

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Preparing Lamb

And I wonder how a woman

prepares a child for war

packs pants, rolls socks

fills a kit bag full enough…


waves from a platform

to one face within a sea

feeds every fading feature

to memory


for you would be the first to fall

lumbering to no-man’s land

too hard on heel

to feel the shift in sand

the whispering shell

that final wake-up ...

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Truncated Circle


Whatever you do don’t think about trees.

But if you do happen to think about trees

Think about elephants-

Tiny elephants in a photo mosaic

Which when you stand back

Looks like a tree.

But don’t think about trees.

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Also by Cathy Crabb:

Corridor- the urban desert | Things Are Ticking Over Nicely- a country song I have written for Bush Pig |

Mellow Autumn

Autumns rich mellow flavoured air

Unmasked,  the trees are now bare.


Seldom do we hear the birds sing

When the Autumn leaves are falling.


Smoke trails from the burning leaves

Carried on the light cool breeze.


The scent of spiced apple days

In the suns golden haze.


The Pine towering heavenly high

Dropping fragrances on passers by.



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Little old lady sternly stands,

Son and daughter lending hands;

So many memories, so much done,

Battles lost and battles won.

An English girl from a country town

Who rose to power beneath the Crown.

For - or against - there's few to match her,

Happy Birthday, Lady Thatcher!


Carp if you must but try to be witty,

Whining's depressing - and so is self-p...

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Also by M.C. Newberry:


The book review + Music

The Book review + music

Tongue  in cheek  version!

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An Unphotographable Account of Something Extraordinary.


This is a picture I did not take of a thin wooden door inside a block of flats. It’s slightly ajar, and a red poster of Martin Luther King’s ‘I have a dream…’ speech is visible in the sliver of light. Beneath the poster, a glass table with a sealed packet of needle ends, box of tobacco and a jar of brownish liquid on top translucifies the lower half of a young blonde haired man who cowers...

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Also by Joy Claypool:

Consequences of your actions, kid. |


Her skin is rumbled with oak
in the red; her lessened and bent over form,
her mouth of bitch wood,
jewelled in the ruby bulbed
beat of the bath tub.
The sins of her shins are in jeans stitched up and patched up; the clods of her feet tucked under
her rocking chin to knee.
“I still remember the colour of the path in the rain. I’ll be

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Also by Marianne Daniels:

Sick Day | Hands | Tree | Cling | Girl |

Italian Travellers

entry picture

Italian Travellers

(Came to Ancoats)




Did they come like locust?

Arriving as a plague, did they try other lands?

Seeking out some shade.


Did they travel over land by sea on horse then train?

Wear out their boots with walking

Across countries left behind,

Until they found this Ancoats, where they settled down.


Did this Ancoats offe...

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Also by Carmine Grimshaw:

Three Wise Monkey’s | (Benito Mussolini) |

Austin Fridge !!

entry picture

I’m  driving  my  fridge  ,  it’s  a  terrible  green
There  are    icicles    where  the  heater  had  been
There’s  a  snowdrift  ,  and   glacier ,  all  round  my  feet
And   ice  in  the  boot  
Where  I  keep  the  raw  meat  .

I’m  driving  and  driving  far  down  the  road
I  can’t  see  a  thing  the  window   so  froze  and
I  can’t  see a  thing    my  breath  chill...

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We reel ‘em in with Ritalin,

(Big Pharma pockets the profit)

Viagra and the Vitamin –

it gets so hard to come off it.


Increasing dependency doses,

the playground exchange of bright sweets;

damned by a dual diagnosis,

the endless prescription repeats.


To manage stress a bullet-proof vest

is obligatory in these quarters:

the weight you can’t get...

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Also by Ray Miller:

Backward | Betting on a Photo | Donkey Jacket | The Dark Ages | Black Market |

Night of fear, no not really


Waking up this morning

Almost middle of the night

Waiting for the birdsong

Or alarm clock to put me right


Stressful head upon the bed

Pillow jumped to the carpet sea

Thoughts of panic and despair

Get dragged out of memory


Latent fear in the troubled gut

Sings inharmoniously loud

For what is my pain of fear?

Rises single notion from t...

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Also by Sean:

Simply to Arrive | Cabin Fever |



Racing towards raging tides With no fear of death inside Raging against a pacing mind As predicaments perpertrate prophetic signs Emersed in emerging truths Diserning proof that the path is littered with Inverted roots The worth of my youth lurks on boots Of deserting troops of god. As they stamp down the meaning upon my skull with a burning rod. Attempts upon my soul but redempti...

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He Likes His Point Of View

entry picture

painting: Janice Lee Porter

photo credit: Bill Cottman 

 He Likes His Point Of View

Adamas is known to be oppositional and augmentative

Agreeing with other points of view

Seem bland when there’s no definitive position

                         And perspective shifts like tsunami sands

Astigmatized visions rule this world and


Every tale of triumph with disgrace and in...

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Also by J. Otis Powell‽ (with interrobang):

Without Regard | Tongue Swallow |

Adamasdandelionhe likes his point of viewJ. Otis Powell‽


The moonlight shadow

unfolds across your furrowed brow

while you contemplate your face

in the mill pond glaze.


You cast your line and wait.

An owl calls, interrupting your nostalgia

and stalling your train of thought

that chugs by all too often in your twilight years.


The rain falls,

rippling your face in the pond

as a vole scampers by your f...

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Also by Mike Hilton:

K.I.S.S. |

ThePoetry Spoke October - Poetry Night & Guests

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'ThePoetry Spoke'

Great poetry and acoustic music

This Tuesday - 23rd October- doors open 8pm


La Gondola

22a Liscard Crescent

Wallasey- The Wirral

CH44 1AE (a stones throw over the Mersey from Liverpool)

Check us out in the gig guide...


Our Guest Poet

David Bateman

Originally from River Hill in rural west Kent, David Bateman came to Live...

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Also by Chris Co:

Wirral Ode Show Open Mic October- plus poetry filming. |

I used to call him Grandad

Thanks for taking the time to read and comment folks, appreciate it :)

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Also by Laura Taylor:

Birdsong | Brand New Lexicon |


Bury my bones in the garden.

I know it's hard on you.

Plant me like a flower.

Beneath the cloudy blue.

My soul will never stray too far

away from this, our spot.

So please don't make my spirit wander

round a graveyard plot.

It would be hypocritical,

for me to be laid there.

Among the passed on parish,

eternity to share.

Plant trees above my empty ...

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Also by Graham Eccles:

First Heartbeat | White Shadows |

Me and My Nana





Me and my Nana

Go to the park

And make daisy chains

-          When it’s spring


Me and my Nana

Run very fast and jump up

And try to catch

The sunbeams from the sky

-          When it’s summer


Me and my Nana

Walk down our lane

Add kick up all the golden leaves

-          When it’s autumn



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Also by Dorinda MacDowell:

Another Nail in Culture's Coffin |

The Creepy Old House

entry picture

In a creepy old house I found a creepy old doll.
I bent to pick it up and boy did I have a fall. I stood up had a lump
on my head, but otherwise aright looked out the window, day had
turned to night. I looked and looked but did not find the doll.
I turned to leave and there it was hanging by its neck
against the wall. Its creepy smile seemed to say,
"Come and play with me my friend. We can p...

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Also by Shirley Smothers:

The Old Broken Doll |


The Memory of Tongues

One for all,

all for nothing.


Sweet winter cools the dry

of summer nights and splintered

dreams that shadow


endless preying hours.



the poor man's weed,

a fortress of leisure

til wake forsakes you.


Outside the shattered leaves fall silent.

Wet glass batters petal echoes.


What is the world?





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Also by Kealan Coady:

Foreign Island Dream | Rain and Mind | Summer Darkness |

Winter looms, memories lost.


Flakes of snow land in my hair. Nesting like the foam on yesterday’s cappuccino.

Cold air breathes around me. Steal scissors slicing my face without a wound to show.

Crunching heels, but only two, walk back home from another day’s day dreaming.

Dark nights loom and while I sit in the warming glow, frost still surrounds me.

Doorbell rings, I still sit in silence. Phone ring...

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A Poem Is Just Ink in the Shape Of

I'm studying Creative Writing in university, and my first poetry lectures were all about trying to define what poetry is. Personally I found this a bit unnecessary; I've never felt the need to put the entire art of poetry in a box, draw a diagram of it and give a lab report on its composition - it's one of those things you just feel, right? However, in class we were asked to write an Ars Poetic...

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Ars PoeticaCreative Writing



Their eyes begin to close for they are used
to too many winters.
When the seasons change too quickly there's
a whole new reason for remaining tight.

They shut themselves completely to preserve
the energy within them
and when spring comes they are splintered
by the light.

Dancing and redeeming their frosty borders
they come out
to greet and meet and know and ...

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S N E E Z Y I S M I S S I N G : a Difficult Day for the Snow White Gang. - (Definitely best heard rather than seen, as it works best with a pause for each development; but there is a reason for showing it here, as explained after the poem).


Well I woke up this morning

And thought "I'm feeling happy,"

But he really was grumpy

And I was still . . . s l e e p y.


We both felt bashful

Thinking he might be dopey :

That's how we ended

Up in the dock.


But Sneezy is  missing

Yes   Sneezy is missing

Oh     Sneezy  is  missing

What    Snow  White  is  kissing -


Whatever ...

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I bought a big tub of tiramisu,

Checked for information as you do.

Read advice on lid

Underneath was hid

So I turned it over for further clue.


“Do not turn upside down,” the words read.

“Why, how wonderful!” I promptly said.

Let me do if first

Then tell me the worst,

Do they prefer perverse fun instead?

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Also by Lynn Dye:

fishy tale | devon | Reality |


Hello my names Doreen

Doreen the physiotherapist

I thought I'd like her

She smiled stating that

Together we'd get this finger straight

Our eyes locked in and we searched deep,

She into the soul of my endurance

And me into her world of ,sadistic pleasure.

You see, I knew,

Overheard didn't I,

As I sat in the waiting room,

A middle aged man rushed out

In tears, dis...

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Inside Us

Switch off

Time out 

Boundaries disappear

Favourite choices

Silent thoughts

Freedom enjoyed

Enthusiastic images

Encounter imagination

Modern outlook

Changing features

Visitor friendly

Search for

Secret clues

To discover

Historical paths

Leading to

Engaging future

Current trends

Forming views

Colours painted


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We are inside Stockport Art Gallery - - Stockport

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