Poetry Blogs (Jul 2012)

Popular last 30 days

From play date to real date.

I just want to


One thinks i'd be settling,

The other is hearing bells,

Beauty is skin deep,

yeah yeAH , I KNOW

He's brighter on the inside.

Possible disaster.

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Who brings the flame to signify

That peace now lights this land

On whose sure grip may we rely

Which body lends this hand


Upon whose face the gentle glow

To light the way for all

A worthy grasp of all that comes

With populace in thrall


The backers, hip to all things good

Whose strength may awe the meek

Are striding through our neighbourh...

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WOL Olympic Competition

WOL olympic competition

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Also by ted clarke:

WOL olympic competition |

A Cry in the Silence



My day is languishing...

The clean lace of  joy flew out with daylight


My hours saturated with sadness,

your cruel love was that mix of betrayal 

that played with the best of my dreams


I never, never felt so much pain...

and every day your indifference crumbles me


The love you gave me one day,

they were shadows, they were fantasies


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Also by Noris Roberts:

My lips have forgotten you | Let it… |

sad poems

First surrender is sweetest

  Because then, it was much much slower lazily loving achingly tender filled with such warm nuzzlings wordless mumurings and the softest,softest strokings. The dreamiest sensation of floating as though in an ocean of moonlight merged with sunlight and every other conceivable soul filling energy, an exhilarating and weightless tumbling,tumbling,tumblin...

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Family Dinner

Two blistered sausages are spilling

their stuffing over the sofa.

The yellow of an egg has run;

the sun is exiting the sky.

Bacon curled dark anger, broken

by the children full of beans.

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Chinaman tell of miraculous conquest of gravity by Rochdale canal lock


Boat at bottom of hill.


Into stone canyon,

Gate behind close.


Water slump

Into stone canyon

Boat lift,



Nudge top gate,

Man shout

Gate open

Boat go out.


Canyon fill.

Us up hill.


Water down, us up.



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For Winston`s Canal collection


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An after dark refuge for the boredom

of wild lads, that would otherwise turn bad.

Hitting the pads they came to understand routine

know what discipline means, when told to break.


Rocky music raised the pulse here,

as boxers, not dead-beats skipped to the beat

of aspirations.


Hard work, bumps and bruises

came their way; a little blood ...

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Also by Chris Co:

'ThePoetry Spoke' July Open floor & Guests. | Wirral Ode Show Open Mic July- Plus Filming Poetry. |

It's a Pity


It’s a pity that

you can’t take off your skin

like an old dress

can’t cover the rags

with a smart dress

so that to impress

can’t embroidery stitch the holes

made by moles


it’s a pity that

you can’t pull out your heart

to bask in the sun

can’t force it cut and run

from the life of one

can’t let your soul

fly in the sky like bird...

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Also by Larisa Rzhepishevska:

It Costs Nothing | My Angel Visited My Dreams Tonight | Oh, My Darling Odessa! | Yes And No | Love And Parting |


It's *My* Games

I am British and I'm saying it out loud.

Once more, I’m British, and oddly I’m quite proud.

The dumpy dignity of her Majesty the Queen,

The shared anxiety seeing Zoe lift it clean.

Can our Manxman Cav be the first to cross the line.

And what colour will Becs’s swimming medal shine?

The lovely Lizzie lifted my spirits to the sky,

with tears of gladness when we both be...

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Also by Alison Smiles:

Nice is not enough |

WOL Olympic Competition



The net’s a big headache

I need a bloke you see

I search and search for hours

But can’t get one for free.


I bought myself a web cam

I thought I could chat and play

But there weren’t any blokey blokes

Only the ones that were gay.


Hang on! Who’s this?

It’s a blokey figure

Reminds me of my granddad

But my granddad’s thinner.



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British Gas

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British Gas


British Gas a vulture at large,

Have brought in a ludicrous new charge.

If you have a meter on your site,

They charge you nearly £200 per annum,thats not right !

This charge definately does stink,

Completely unjustified ,they need to rethink.

I've used no gas for a long long spell,

Hence this boiler of fury I do dispel.

Every quarter I get t...

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Also by hugh:

Mildred | The Queen's helicopter parachute jump | Colorado Carnage | Look both ways | Off licence robbery | The princess and the frog | Gentlemen,please take a seat | Chocoholics | Mistaken Identity | Pleased with Mr Postman | Desire | Hand picked | Protect the swan | Be careful what you buy | Mable | Raise them and praise them | The smile on your face | Spring brings bounce to young and old | Mario Balotelli--A hero |

It Is Time

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This poem was written by my sister Sandra K. Smith, and is used with her permission.

Loving Memory Of Clovis W. Henderson 12/27/1931 to 12/09/2009


IT IS TIME December 9th, 2009.
IT IS TIME for our family to gather one by one.
IT IS TIME the Doctors, Nurses, Specialist, and Staff at the Hospital tell us.
IT IS TIME to let him go.
IT IS TIME they kept saying as our family...

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Also by Shirley Smothers:

Glasses | My Unborn Child |

The Point Being


It is not the beaten track
eroded by the heavy boots of many
or the narrow path
that the Lord commands.
Worthy of precious little recognition
as a matter of opinion, in the scheme of things,
yet the way the menial coin in the currency of fate and fortune
landed. Head up, motionless. Certain, set in stone.
An unspoken instruction, albeit clear as day

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Exercise Without Apparatus

“The floor is now free for Sylvia of Estonia.”


A wisp of coloured tinsel caught

on the upbeat of a gaudy circus air,


she occupies every part of her allotted space.

So focused, now, that she seems to move far


beyond the confines of this local sports centre

- a sylvan leap across the intervening years –


to where all eyes are fixed on an Olympic ...

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WOL Olympic Competition


There's a hole in my head.
Where a brain used to be.
It's whole lot of space
and it's troubling me.

At night it get's cold,
When there's nowhere to keep
The warm dreams of dancing,
And songs that bring sleep.

There's a space in my throat
Where a voice used to sing,
But I threw up the words,
And there's no more to bring.
There's a pen in m...

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Lois EntwistleUntitled

The Hitting Game

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On the island’s south side

a solitary town fizzes

like overloaded circuitry

on dark, motherboard hills.


Across a sticky, smooth-tiled walkway

an amusement arcade spills

a test of sexiness based on how clammy your palm is

and the hitting game.


You spin in coins so they register

on sensors worn numb. 

A padded stump protuberates.

The s...

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Our advanced Airblade jet came down in the mountains.                                                                                      

I spent wonderful times with the woman I love.                                                                                        

Now we're separated with no way of being reunited.                                         ...

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Shook Up | FLY | FORGOTTEN PLACES | Poland | THROUGH THE MIRROR | my new work done today at fitton hill writing group | PLANET | Stereo Death | MIND FLIGHT | INTO THE BLUE | Vodka | SPEEDING DARTS | Berlin read live in gullivers manchester july 5 2012 | TORRENT | There |

advanced transoprtcrash landinglonenly planet stationsignal



“Hi love! I’ve had a bump on my head!

“I don’t remember a thing,” he said.

What am I betting?

It needs forgetting!

He’s remembering those that we wed!


We got together on the dance floor

At our club’s party the night before

He stroked my breast

I did not protest

Now we’re blaming the drink for sure!


Two days previous was his bumped head


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Also by Lynn Dye:

Cirrus |

First taste

Warmth rising with my kisses

Shivering your belly softness

And downwards I go

Your hand, tangled tight

In my red messy tresses

The pulse in your wrist

Rhythmic against my neck

I tilt my head upwards

My mouth teasing and begging

for the very essence of you

our eyes briefly meet in expectation

And even lower I go

As I’m eager for the first taste


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Also by Katy Megan Hughes:

Oxford Street Shopping | Stoned in Soho | Hotel Shower | An ode to idling on a Sunday |


To be a fisher of men.

"I am grateful to say, when quizzed, as I am thoroughly today,

'Wher've you been, where've you been, where've you been?'"

I steadfastly say, "I am come to church."

'As they can ask me questions of God again and again,till God has come home

And I will always have an answer.'

But of alcohol my heart beats hard inside my head and it hangs thereof.'


A fisher of men, my...

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Also by Rachel Bond :

The Dreadful Mermaid and A Slice of Orange Ocean |

12 Olympus Mount



Summer side

Chiltern edge

sleepy suburb

privet hedge



garden track

hanging basket

judo mat


new Greco-

Roman porch

five ring doorbell

lobby horse


loft paddock

downstairs pool

en suite yngling


good local fencing schools


bed springboard

vaultage space

planning ...

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WOL Olympic Competition

Let Me Pee

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(an increasingly recurring theme)



When I find myself in toilet trouble

Prostate problems bother me;

Whistling while I’m dribbling

Let Me Pee.

My bladder’s full to bursting but I pass a tiny quantity


Which feels like molten lava in such sensitive anatomy



Let Me Pee, Let Me Pee

This is bloody agony

Whistling while...

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Also by John Coopey:

Under-Performing | Out Of Wine | In the Grotto |


Today marks the opening of a great time in UK sporting history and the opportunity to welcome the world to

our shores - and, in particular - to the world's most famous city.  There are "lies, damned lies and statistics"

and the politics of envy and disbelief.   But let us put them all aside for a few weeks while we marvel and

rejoice at the elevation of human aspiration in its fines...

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Also by M.C. Newberry:



You read the literature or lets wash their dirty linen in public

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This is a re-edit


To all those adults who are thrilled by the Olympics.

To all those sportspeople who are on the point of hysteria over the Olympics.

To all those in charge of or likely to financially gain from the Olympics.

To all those in the media -epecially the BBC-who have become 'embedded' into the circus,


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Also by Tommy Carroll:

£30,000,000,000 Olympics | Paris ahead... | The putting down | Do not turn me into rhyme | MC's wanted for L**** B**** | 125 GeV/c2 | Sportspro has rated Usain Bolt the 4th most marketable athelete in the world. |

La mer

Des mots, des vers, la ville qui s’efface

La nuit tombe comme  une allégorie.

Un feu dans l’âtre, une gorgée d’eau-de-vie.

L’essence même de la vie

Qui échappe au raisonnement.


Trop longtemps, j’ai cherché de l’or,

Bâtisseur de pyramide sous les soleils levant.

Cherchant dans les symboles de la nature,

Le message des origines de la mer.


Et j'ai vu...

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Workshop Opportunity

I haven't posted here for some time I mostly use my blog these days which I will link to I wanted to include a link to an event on Monday, Innverse and workshop: https://www.facebook.com/events/237192663068681/ Innverse is a friendly read around that happens the last monday of every month (we will be taking august off however)  I wrote up some of my workshop pieces on my blog to give people an ...

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Shy Jupiter

Jupiter ribbons

link of ebb slow tease the leer

rampant ore mush soft

in slight shines.


Another sly solve

sullen flaxen curfew peaks,

assures the form

allows it

to be alone.

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Also by Kealan Coady:

The Singing Cage | One Way | Q nome. |

It's not the flame that counts...It's the fire in our hearts

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We waited hours for the torch to pass;

Helicopters hovered,

BMW bikes rolled platoons of police (all high fiving)

Past our aching feet

And flagging flags.

Spirits slowly sank,

Euphoria evaporating under the scouring sun.


Then the Murmur approached.

Life returned to our lifeless limbs

As acrobats cartwheeled along the white-lined tarmac;

A who...

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Also by Yvonne Brunton:

Us Nolimpics | 100 metres | Us Nolimpics |

WOL Olympic Competition

Compy Dompy

I represent our client Mr Dumpty

He had an accident you may recall

And though some might regard him as a 'numpty'

We feel the blame lies squarely with your wall.


In short to watch the Royal pageant pass through

Mad throngs had lined the streets as mad throngs do

And Mr Dumpty being short in stature

Climbed your wall to get a better view


Our client was...

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Three Days

                              Three Days



Things – places people come to be,

Happenings everywhere telling tales,

We’re never stopping to admire though –

Each; caught sadly unawares -

The vastness of life - everywhere you

Cast open eyes yet,

     All, took for granted –

The fastness of living never slowing

     And, we’re always asking for a


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Also by Noetic-fret!:

Excuse Me | Sacrifice | Cause and Effect - Action, Reaction | A Heywood Fallen Hero | It's Begun |



What we are.
This Island,
this nation.

This Great Britain?

An everyday accepted menu,
of mutton dressed as lamb.

A grainy gravy.
That tastes of,
stiff upper lip,

The same as it ever was.

Short changed,
side plated with fat,
waiting for apple pie,
and custard


Things could be diffrent.

Give us this.


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Life's Towpath

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We walked the canal towpath in a gentle summer haze,
watching a lock leak water that seemed to go on for days,
our collie was running ahead and kept turning to watch us dawdle,
but we were in no hurry then as time seemed to present no hurdle...
It was the mid eighties and we were just two lovers, with one dog,
marriage was fine as we were, holding hands with no r...

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Also by Dave Dunn:

Red Wine | no No NO NO! |


A Sleeping Engine


I live out  the past

A sleeping engine  in a shocked  blank room


Older than saxons

Older than jutes

Older than older !

The land gives back


Dreary English ghosts

Demonic and  inertly orthodox


Wake a  dread height

Travelling aquatint gives us light

Spilling utter twisted dust

 Lace, frost and the same ringing weather from here to...

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ghostsmurdertime travel


I met a woman at the Blue Nile.

Our first encounter was her attempting to kiss my face. She seems to be in her mid-late fifties/early sixties. She began to tell me that she is okay, over and over again. She began to cry. She told  me her sun died. He OD'ed at 39 years old. She watched him die, with his head between the toilet and the sink. Her other sun blamed his brother's death on her. Sh...

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blue nileboxbutterfliesclownsdanceDeathfireLydiaminnesotaopenPainsecretshoesTearsWater

Young dude's swagger.


Young dude's swagger

Shirts off in the sun

Comparing tattoos

With everyone,

Like battle scars

And walking galleries,

They surely are a force of life to see,


Testosterone fuelled

And chewing gum,

Singing along

 To the ipod hum.


But in every city centre

Of this Twitter Facebook land

Theres a middle age parent looking on


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old case-files speak

two maiden’s towpath walk

a stalking killer strikes

one dies the other maimed

a breeze compared to Denver

where dead folk lie in rows

and yet the mists of time

still billow in the mind


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A legend

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I've been looking through old school exercise books. This is from June 1986; I was eleven.

Seven standing stones are under the sky,
seven standing stones shall never, ever die.
Clouds blow, grey, white, or black,
and the wind shall blow, blow through the stones,
and memories shall fade and die,
and nobody shall know, know the reason why
seven standing stones are under the sky.

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Shakespeare's Aunties (Stockport WoL Collage Poem)

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Fun by numbers; birds loom, weather threatens.

The naked jogger eyes the eagle's wings.


Walking on egg-shells

Breaks me up


Senses erotic with words

And the ghost of memory writes his name


You do it to make the story work.



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Also by J F Keane:

3GA |

Stockport Write Out Loud

Out of Time


A chord played through

fifty years Keith doesn’t need to look

he listens


a white face caught

eyes fixed on Bill

running the bass


and at the back

ready to take the mike

Mick dances



(from a photo of the Stones first gig)

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RHYMES FOR 'ORANGE' - two in a single sonnet !



(Verse written in part-payment for detective fiction bought from Mrs Ann Green)


Of all the things that come to me in boxes :

Tea, books, crockery, certain parts of foxes,

Postcards of Margate; stage awnings of Ben Nevis,

Or small still-animate occupants of corner, fold or crevice -

There's one that stirs the pen and makes its...

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Also by John Z Hepworth:




many reasons to loose sleep

and wonder if any are true 

and in pureness or a lie

like a hidden shallow cup

deep in a threadbare pocket

facetiousness is weak

due to the worn circle

on the fabric of your hip

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Ghost Train

I hope to use this (and other poems to come) as part of a heritage project with youngsters. This particular poem will be used to inspire an exploration of the history of Horwich Loco Works. I would appreciate a bit of critical feedback before I unleash it on an unsuspecting public! Thanks.


The long, brick built workshop

Stands empty now

The full arched windows stare blankly


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On Not Wearing Purple


Sod wearing purple

I’m gonna fake dementia

Sup single malt in Tesco aisles

and Jose Cuervo Gold                       

Steal Thornton’s biggest fuckoff box

of truffles,  milk and dark

Then stuff my face with Krispy Kremes

Leave fingermarks on magazines

I’ll ride the roads in off-peak times

Rob Asdas far and wide

A North West quest to shoplift shite


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The Pessimist's Song


You’ve got Jonathan Edwards Eyes.

The ones he had when his sight

was blinded by the light,

before his soul was plunged

into eternal darkness.


Some men are at peace not to have in their head

a grandiose plan,

or believe, we’re not dead when we’re



that our wits will stay sharp,

hard work’s not a cage,

that love conquers all


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In Peterborough by the old church
Ouside the shopping centre
Rain falls on me from the sky
As I eat my Branston pickle pork pie
From M&S it was
One pound sixty five
And I've never felt so British
And I fill with pride
Just been to Argos too
To get my mum a gift
Ear rings and a neckless
With little fake diamonds in

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The Jester

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THE JESTER The jester performs in a world full of tears, His chuckle, an attempt to allay all our fears. His joyful tones, sweet music to our ears, His mission, to help those who need it so dear. But what of the end of the long lonely road, His whimsical smile, no-one left now to goad. When the laughter runs out and the jester runs dry, As realisation sets in and he can do noug...

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Also by Darren Scanlon:

Misunderstood | Absent Minded Mouse |


Funeral Crasher


Funeral Crasher


Outside the crematorium ,

I am greeted by bullet stares.

Hissed Who is she ?

information sliding from the sides of mouths.

The car park becomes the OK Carral,

my father’s family and I

facing each other like gun slingers.

But cousin Heather breaks ranks

crushing me in a 52 year old orphan’s hug,

the rest of the family stand down...

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Yesterday I weeded the strawberry bed,   

And tugged a thousand dog violets from the ground;

Their lilac flowers played the rain and

Now the swollen seeds

Blow from sprinkler heads.


My  fingers pince the brown thin leaves from strawberry base,

Grip the soil in earthy solitude,

And turn the leaf to find:


No harvestmen scuttling ‘fraid from base to base...

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garden weather

The Substance Of Angels

The Substance of Angels


I have surely walked with angels,

Through my deepest darkest night,

Called to comfort they have held me,

Brought me safely to the light.

At my heels the prince of devils,

Demon herds like screaming swine,

All they promised was my glory,

Sweet contentment, heady wine.


See within this pale reflection,

Mirrored by the blac...

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