Poetry Blogs (Apr 2012)

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In the wanting, in the waiting, in the never that comes between
Distances rolls like waves between us
 Pulling us closes and drawing us apart.

Words cramp in my mouth, my tongue thickens
If, if, if, want, want, want, need, need, need.
You cannot hear me, I cannot speak
In the head
 A thousands scenes play out
Hand touching hand
Minds reach out
And twine
Leaning into...

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Also by kayberley:

Promises, Promises | Save your energy |


Had another go at last verses

“Despite their dementia  they do remember well that they have a family that is never here for them. They call their names into emptiness, and cry at the thought of abandon .” a comment from BBC website



I cried and sucked their teats. They drew a face on me

 in their own image, one I never asked for,

constructed a smile and ears to...

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Also by Nick Coleman:

The Schoolmistress | Ethnic Cleansing |

Tea Cup


This is my favorite cup,

containing my favorite tea.

I drink from it 

in my favorite moments.


It fits my mouth

in my favorite way.

I feel the shape

of vowels when I sip.


The steam floats

to cleanse my pores.


This cup helps

rid me of toxins,

with hearing my words

and trials and tales.


Only my favorite cup


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The autumn leaves an ill-defined unease
that (while the summer flourished) I’d ignored.
The litany begins. We can’t afford
the oil we need to buy before the freeze;
they’ve forecast snow: we need to fix the tiles
that blew away before the summer came,
fit plastic shrouds on every window-frame;
there isn’t any salt in stock for miles.
       Yet soon I’ll wake, and March will fal...

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Also by Marnanel Thurman:

On not being a cat | Blood, bones and feathers | In depths of darkness out of doors | This is the poem | A love song | Examination | Attention | On first looking into an A to Z |


That third being between us. Like a mutual shadow.
Awakes us from sleep with a gentle touch of light, a breath of reality.
Bites us, when we’re too sluggish; dances around us, when we embrace each other.
We get lost in the wilderness of its fur, like children, pugnacious, fussy and nosy…
That third, Being between us.
Sometimes like a tender cloud, surrounds us with petals of silence;

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On stolen sheets

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I washed her

from my pillow-slips.


In a white plastic bucket

I soaked away her body's breath,

and with bleach removed

the evidence she had  left.


We snatched the time

to make our marks

with sweat and 

firm commitments.


The stains on stolen sheets

proved easier to erase

than those she ground into

the fabric of my room,


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Also by Tommy Carroll:

She lies sleeping |

A slice of snobbery

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  There he is again! hosing the driveway in case the postman has left any mucky footprints.   Either doing that or looking to see if one blade of grass on his front lawn has grown higher than another. He treats it like a work of art snipping here-snipping there with scissors- gold-plated of course!   Yesterday I gave him a cheery wave-...

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You Won't Batter Anymore

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(Much as I am reluctant to tamper with The Master.....)



There you go and, Baby, here am I

Well, you left me here with all this fish to fry

I’ve thawed this cod and now you’ve quit your job

And you won’t batter anymore.


You bastard, Trish! So now you’ve got your wish

You left me here with all this fucking fish

There’s no flour dips so all we got is c...

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Also by John Coopey:

Their Finest Hour | Kushagarnie 2 | Ikea | Live and Let Live | I Got Ewe Babe | Metre | Mammaries Are Made Of This | Gorgonzola | My Dad | There's Allus a Dribble That's Left |

Statto of the Railway Lines

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Train spotters love trains, tracks, stations, sidings,

Steep cuttings, mortar, stony spaces.

Straining to observe the woosh and swoosh,

Chatter and clatter of carriage and truck

And engine names.


Buddleias spring from bridge and brick,

Colouring impossible places,

Stattoes of the railway network:

“The nine-forty to Liverpool is late,

Leaves on the line....

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Also by jane wilcock:

Insane Poppy |

What is love?

What is love?


Fills the emptiness

Breaks the wave

Turns the head

Twists the fate

Destroys the expected

Shapes the form

Spoils the beauty

A silent call

Rouses the sleeping

Leadens the heart

Haunts my spirit

When we are apart


© Katy Hughes 2012



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Also by Katy Megan Hughes:

The Oak Tree | Secret | Hatton Locks | The ending that started the beginning... |





You live your life, you take the blows,
Its deepest wound the blackened bruise
Where sometime roads would trail desire,
And lead down ways we would not choose.


God knows I’ve sought the sheltered glade,
Where summer breezes always blow,
But oft I walked the rock strewn path,
And found that place we should not go.


I find with age some restful cal...

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Also by Ian Gant:



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A whisker on the window sill

Means feline’s been around.

She didn’t leave her pawprints,

She never made a sound.


But I know that she’s been there,

The evidence there still:

A little, wispy filament

Upon the window sill.


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Also by Yvonne Brunton:

Cecil the Saint | WOL Prize Received | The Newberry Dye-Pass Crossing AKA The Rules Of The Road. | A Cup | Spring in the High Peak | Kushagarnie | (untitled) | inFLUence |


Friend List


The most difficult part of moving back to

the area where you grew up are

the people you bump into


who you haven’t seen for years.

Mainly, it’s people who attended

school with you, but occasionally

it’s a family member or an ex, and


they’re the ones that stagger you.

After saying a flustered

hello, the first and most obvious

questions are...

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Natalie. Natalie and Nick


Natalie. Natalie and Nick

I forgive you Ruth for hurting me. Now I must move on and go far away from you. I’m getting married to my warrior friend. Please don’t be mad with me. I think you’d approve and like Natalie. She loves gothic music and even has a band called Mayo, never mind her tattoos and love of flying. Like you, she speaks to me in my dreams. Unlike you, she won’t ever hur...

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NOT PAYING | WHAT I SEE | Sunny 8 | Happy | GIRL | OUCH! | AN UNFORTUNATE DEATH | MY CARS | My Blade, My Life (by Mel) | FORD ESCORT | HEADY RUSH | Natalie. Politico (from my new series of Natalie poems) | SHE HAS THE ANSWERS |

argentina and englandlovemalvinas and falklandsnatalie and nickno warpeace

Lost in the ost

Wrote this piece for my son, though he hasnt read it yet . . . Its about coping with he divorce of his parents . . . Lost In The Post Where's you smile gone? Got lost in the Post? Along with the famly sunday roast . . And brilliant Holidays, torn in two, It's half the life I'd planned for you. Now days spent elsewhere, prised apart, Divorce is a terrible work of art . . Is badly dr...

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Kids With Drugs-2

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Kids with drugs,

it's like their

being ripped apart

by blades of a knife.


They slowly die

from their wounds.

Their souls drain

like blood from

torn vessels.


Their lives end.

Maybe not today

maybe not tomorrow,

but they eventually do.

Do we even try

to make it stop?


Just ...

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Also by Shirley Smothers:

The Sea | Kids With Drugs |


Scanner Soap

Honey, what time do you think you’ll be in?

I want to get to you before the gossip does.

Don’t worry -  I love you.


Ruth, I’m going to be delayed.

I have to stay late – extra work.

I’m really sorry.

                OK, Honey. I’ll see you when I see you.

                Keep it warm.


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Also by Cynthia Buell Thomas:

Chatting With Ari |

conversations overheard ship to shore

Tweet, Tweet.

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I've transformated, morphasised,

I've bent, reformed, aligned.

Embraced and moulded with some zeal;

included and combined.

So now I'm out there, chick at large,

pouring forth my thoughts;

compelled to brief to unknown screens,

providing my reports.

When snuggled in my rain-soaked nest.

When waiting for my tea.

When just about to fly the nest,


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Also by Christopher Dawson:

Worms and Cheese | Things aren't always what they seem to be. | Suspicions confirmed |

Bible Bashing

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His deeds fortold her future.

His absence etched upon her soul,

His genes that were her makeup

were a mystery to unfold.

His life acting out his mothers belief,

On a mission to impossible

Living inside the words of the 'pious book'

A martyr to the incredible.....


Every night on bended knee,

Repenting all his sins......

He'd remorsely ask forgiveness...

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jeffarama andy nicholson stella jones steve mellor

Easington Colliery

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They strain towards the light.

Blinded by a death

in black and white.

Stood in a puddle of water

its darkness climbing legs

like sweet peas.

Tickling those hardened

by the tenebrous earth.                                                         Photograph by Keith Pattison

Leaching tears since ’51.


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coal mining

It's the Music that Matters!! - A Poem For Sophie Lancaster - Never Forget X

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It’s the Music That Matters!


The Metalhead strums his air guitar

The Indian man sings while playing his sitar

It’s not the colour of his skin

- It’s the music that matters!


Panpipes in the mountains

Music in the fountains

It doesn’t matter where it is

- It’s the music that matters!


Synthesisers and Electropop

Strut your stuff and bop till you drop


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You used to ask me.. What does pain feel like?

You told me that there will come a time,

When we will feel the sun, but not know it as the sun,

Hear the wind, but not know it as the wind,

And our ribcages will open out like arms in front of us.


You used to ask me.. If pain was what happened when the wrong hands touched the right skin.

You told me that you were so sc...

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Also by Joy Claypool:

Tell Them | The demon with no eyes. | Spitting Out The Demons |


Close to Home

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See www.prolebooks.co.uk


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A Local History Facebook Group

Does anyone know why 17 Borrowdale Road is missing?

Every day I walk past the empty space

and wonder why it’s not there.


No. 13 is missing as well but I suppose that’s just unlucky.


My husband was born in no. 48 in 1944.

He says there never was a house there;

the plot of land was used as an allotment,

probably to aid the war effort.


I lived at 3...

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I learn this from him

I learn this from him


Give yourself totally to another until time moves on.

Never be afraid to sleep, it’s always darker somewhere else.

Be good to each other, then surrender.


He tells me this when we first meet, when he says

come back for coffee. And we do. Have coffee.

Behind him Che Guevara on the wall curls at the corners


and among the books and...

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no title



          tearing together

                                                                                                       across the page

and the

           painting writing

are as

       a sound


a brush

          or pen

          and out







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Also by Glyn Pope:

Music | The King Of Thorns |

Flippance is a Goodbye Song


                                                  Flippance is a Goodbye Song



Flippance is a goodbye song,

It comes with the yeah yeah yeah’s,

The no no no’s and,

‘Good luck with that,’ they say!


     What it actually means is;

I don’t care for you, your opinions

And angle on life,

For it’s too sore a point of controversy,

Too much the...

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Also by Noetic-fret!:

Beam | We All Could Be Planets | The Phenomena of Life | Soldier, Sailor...........Late Night Experimental Dub Mix! |

Words Escape Me

Sometimes i struggle to believe what i hear
It's all like a turd falling into my beer
Katie Price up for 'Mum Of The Year'?
Words escape me

Unmanned drones sent to kill and to mame
Thatchers grandchildren desperate for fame
Nine billion pound for the Olympic games?
Words escape me

What does the compromise of innonence entail
When it's the smoke from celebrity dreams they in...

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Also by Words Escape Me:

Don't Look Down (Look Up) |



eerily silent now

the guardroom stands

steeped in the clutch

of stricter times

link to decades past

when drill-sergeants

were viewed as gods


poor demented sods

who knew their wrath

knew military law

court’s martial farce

this guardroom served

as temporary gaol

before colchester



the bawling tones


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I don't write poems


I don’t write poems,

I drink them like wine,

I become tipsy

with each coming line.


I don’t write poems,

I breathe them like air,

I become so happy

when each one I share.


I don’t write poems,

I live with them;

they prolong my years,

they are as true as I am.


I don’t write poems,

I weave into verses

sadness, joy, tea...

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Also by Larisa Rzhepishevska:

For Whom To Fish Or Hunt | May be it's a sin... | God Save You! | I Am a Lady | Virtual Life | The Day Of Liberation | Palm Sunday | Poets Souls | My Only Love |


Save £2 on my book - 'Your Sax Is On Fire'

My book - 'Your Sax Is On Fire' is now an incredible £3.99 when you type SAFIRE into the discount code box on


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Pyjama Nimble

For clemency, I lie you at the end of my bed –

rest, and keep the flight of my wrecked dreams at bay - 

this is your sleep,

a seam of undisturbed silk.


I’ll take my psychiatry with the fluorescence of the day,

there is no hurried rivulet for you to claim,

calm though you are, in the pest, be calmer still in my absence.


The draw of each hour wil...

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Also by Marianne Daniels:

Thoughts | Inception | Dose | Spores | Brighton Marathon Donations | Saint to Starve |

Our day out

Between kicking a ball and vandalizing boredom, I swung around lamp posts

and mouthed my maisonette backdrop around the block.

I would burn spiders with a magnifying glass, a clear conscience, and a smile.


But in a few years - the estate molding me would be bulldozed,

thought so bad by Thatcher’s Britain, to not be fit

for the working class. An irony mocked

by the ...

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Also by Chris Co:

ThePoetry Spoke- April and your poetry- with Guests Kevin McMahon, Yarbo and Laura James | Wirral Ode Show Open Mic- Thursday- NEW VENUE |


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Filled with heavy silence

The clouds went on, shaking their sieve

Adding to a sour day all around.

All purpose was missing,

On a weekday torn from routine.

The depressed bodies

Mooned like tourists

Amongst the trestle tables,

Eating to keep from talking,

Black jackets wet with an odor of mold.

I sat watching out the window

Where the clouds conti...

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Also by Tom Harding:

Sunday Evening | Jury Duty | We Were Not Serious People | Titles, Another Life | Office Poem 1 |

A little something



Here at the sink

Cleaning brushes

With turpentine,

The tap is running too


And the lenses

Of my glasses

Are spotted with gloss,

But the job is done

And I am satisfied

With my mornings



The completion of

A task

Usually induces

A hunger in me

And the gammon steak

I took out last night

Has defroste...

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Also by mike watts:

By nature | Don't look back. | No guarantee | In and out of sweet lady luck |



So many years we’ve been together now,

There never was another one for me.

Beneath bright stars, your key set my heart free,

To love you always was my whispered vow.

Aged just eighteen we had a lot to learn,

We learnt together, made mistakes and how,

Our love survived and flourished so we now

Find blissful heights as passion lasts to burn.

A sweet contentme...

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Also by Lynn Dye:

Live And Let Live? | Seeing Through The Rain | Double Dealings | World War II by Hannah (My 9 year old granddaughter is published!) |

Watch The Road

Watch the road


Nature goes inevitable

Blank city connected space

Cage overdying

A ship breaks the trees

No metaphor  of shipwreck 

Sea hating and depressing


Turning at a noise

A few great engines   pathetic , regular and horizontal

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Also by mark littler:

moods on wookey hole legends | Titanic |

True Love

True love can be elusive,

And even when it's found,

Can seep through the hands,

Like water, on to barren ground.


True love, cannot be bought or haggled,

Like goods on a market store,

Those with the good fortune to find it,

Should treasure it for ever more.


True love is like life itself,

Needing nourishment to survive,

So cultivate it with tend...

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Also by Lucy:

Loneliness to solitude |


For Jack Lytton - brother-in-law - who has just signed off this life to chart the great unknown.


It's the tang of the spray

On a bright summer's day

When you're carried along by the breeze.

It's the bite of the wind

When your face feels skinned,

Salted by cold winter seas.


It's th...

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Also by M.C. Newberry:


REVIEW - WOL 'Ring of Bells' Middleton

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For all of those trembling on the brink, all wannabe poetry performers, as yet uninitiated and still afraid to stand-up on an open mike night, WOL Middleton night at the Ring of Bells is just up your street.

I was last to climb the ladder of a  steep staircase to the cosy room upstairs  at Middleton’s Ring of bells, I was warmly  welcomed by  the words of our  compare  Gemma ,( I’m pregnant...

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Also by Gus Jonsson:

The Stolen Smile | Into The Light |

The blend of old and new

Although what we do today feels routine,

a rhythmic activity which can seem mundane,

I still remember the very first time,

that whirl of surprise, then joy ... satisfaction.

I know back then it wasn't with you,

but a chance encounter, a sweet interlude,

a spiral I  held in my hand for a moment,

a love to be savoured, and longingly pursued,

for the sense of arriva...

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Also by Alison Smiles:

Breasts | Moonshine | Flirtation |

Scout Camp

Many years ago

While I was playing out

I saw a boy in uniform

Got told he was a Scout



Can I be one of those

I went and said to Mum

Of course you can my little boy

Consider it done



She bought me a new Scout shirt

And it did not dent my pride

But the trousers she provided

Were old ones just re-dyed



I loved to g...

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Also by Ste:

Dad |

Day 1

And so you'll never see me
as I see myself.
That doesn't worry me.
We have Spain and enough excitement to
to take our minds off cold nights
and over priced spoiled wines.

Your hands are two foreign explorers
excited enough to travel
-without complaint-
the country of my skin,
from earlobe to navel
I feel like half a man
under the microscope of your curious fingers.


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promised poem for Kathy after the party

(Lines for the lady medic)


You`ll laugh and say, `That poets in a plight`

That, `He`ll remember nothing` or maybe fret,

That `being three parts drunken on the night

`the things he said were anyway all lies`


But, love, could I forget,

How the laughter, capering with the light,

Danced wild Antrim-antics in your eyes?

Or that your voice had in it, when y...

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Walkabout with my Pen (Chants from Walkabouts -1)

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Poem 2 of 230:  WALKABOUT WITH MY PEN 


C2 F3 G2 G3 A2 A3 G2 G3
C2 G3 A2 A3 G2 G3 F2 F3
C2 A3 A2 A3 G2 G3 F2 F3
C2 G3 A2 G3 A2 G3 F2 F3

C2 F3 G2 G3 A2 A3 G2 G3
C2 F3 G2 G3 A2 G1 F1 F3)

Once drove an old sedan up north,
    From a place in Sydney to Cairns;
Then to Kuranda I went forth
    By train, to look without set plans.


I browsed through...

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Also by David Franks: Walkabouts Verse:

State to State (Chants from Walkabouts - 2) | Land's End to John o' Groats (Chants from Walkabouts - 3) |

Fishing For Fella's

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Fishing for Fella's

Scope out the field,
locate your target,
make your move
on a true bargain.

Set out the bait,
irresistible flesh;
the walking wriggle
for victim's interst.

Cast out the line,
straight to the point;
with charming smile,
in seductive voice.

Grow the pole, out
on the pull,
must be a big'un
down below.

Reel him in,
close and tight;

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Also by Phillip Kelly:


RE Cycle Thread

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Re Cycle Thread


I came, I saw, I cycled, but didn’t get far,

I took a ride upon the bonnet of a car,

Spokes ended tattered and broken,

Nose all scratched and vanity shoken! [chew on that one Yvonne]


Since the saddle’s all bent I can’t sit tall,

Shanks’s pony seems to me a good call,

I’d use the towpath over by the river,

But too many bikes there make ...

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Also by Nick Clifton:

Dinner Date |

Bikes & Pedestrian Crossings

The Hypocrites Vow

If you spent half the time you do

In trying to deceive me

Then I could tell you half a lie

And you would half believe me.

Read and leave comments (3)

I'm NOT A Misery (Honestly)

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I just LOVE sitting still in my car on the M25

For one thing, you don't have to drive!

I especially love it on a really hot day in summer-

Sure, being late for work's a bit of a bummer

But not to worry

And anyway, what's the hurry

When it's all in the glorious name

Of the super duper Games

No travel pain - no huge numbers of UK gold medals gained



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Trev's TexasTour 2012 (Galveston to Corpus Christi)

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Image: Hugh and 'best friend' Charlie


48) I'd taken my first pictureof an alligator,

Spoonbill and black vulture would come later

Coming from Brazoria Park and driving with care,

I noticed a light on the dashboard that shouldn't be there

It let me know, tyre pressure was low

Soon it was fine, I used a gas station air line

But it was in vain cos later...

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Also by Trev the Road Poet::

Trev's Texas Tour 2012 (Austin to Galveston) | Trev's texas Tour 2012 (Austin) | Trev's Texas Tour 2012 (The journey out) |

Show more entries …

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