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Confessions Of A Self-Berating Splurger - A seasonal ditty


I know I’ve got a lot of stuff and no, I don’t need much more.

I know advertising’s full of guff and persuasion is what it’s for.

I know others needs are greater, but too often I forget

As I’m a self-berating splurger, oft wracked with deep regret.


No matter if you’re measuring in common, pounds or pence,

Too often it would seem that we have more money than sense.

I kno...

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only your BFF would truly understand




paisley print
sunflower smile
sat alongside
a leopard that ate parsley
paw in hand
waiting on the sand
for flying fish
to skip upon
cobalt banners
as lazy breezes
pan flute recollections
of this Iberian summer






It's all about a leopard that munches on parsley. Apart from family, friendship is the the best relationship you ...

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My poetry is ...


Joy, rebellion, forgiveness

life, wisdom, love


Destined winged music that cooed my heart

The cry that fertilized the earth when the sun dawned

Hope, disappointment,

the pain that hurt me in some corner


The line of life, and also the betrayal where one day I’d wake

listening to prayers that my death will announce


Poor dreams of mine...


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To allow the thunder to strike me

I must dismiss it

And retaliate

With silence not fear


Mustn’t let my ears fool my heart

Into fooling my head


I’ll let the vibration take me

For now


While the heat pushes the air

To my ears

From afar

Now that’s what I call Music



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Dear Facebook

A little poem that is very much not in my usual style!

Dear Facebook,

 We have known each other a long time now,
 and whilst I know you will always be there for me,
 it is with a heavy heart that I must tell you the following:
 We can no longer be together.

 It’s not you.
 It’s me.

 I find I can’t keep away from you,
 and I have so much work to do t...

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Not yet...


I didn’t realize when we wore out the new,

the coveted interest for life, the sap in your overdue stories


I never knew when the candor became gloomy knowing your near

and deserted my spirits before your inexplicable indifference,

or when your time was not my time,

and your space became anonymous,

so much that I no longer saw it


I justified your abse...

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How did it come to be, who allowed it?



How was hope gagged by the morbidity of this false democracy?

How did it come to be?


How is it that petroleum was changed for weapons?

How did it come to be, who allowed it?


It is inevitable to react.


There is in my soul a line that lies between the darkness and pain, poking me, and this condition pushes me to the limit in where I bleed and I fa...

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It is my silence!



Crowned with thorns a fatal pain strikes me

stirring my feelings of what one day I thought imperishable


My muse cries with me, demanding to know the reason

why your love was no more than cracked nails of bitterness,

my feelings pouring in the harshness of what I’m still living

It seems that you shall persistently drive my heart into darkness 


It is my silence ...

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Do not ask me who I am...



Do not ask me who I am

I can be the living essence of a soft prayer

or a gloomy room of a prose in pain


I can be the cup of spilled soft caress on your skin,

or the calm, a storm or anger


Do not ask me who I am...

I can be the very face of God,

the words of sounding in a heart 

or maybe the rushing fantasy that often dies at daybreak



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My alter ego...


The naive girl, cautious and fierce

The one with feline eyes

The one with shadowy corners

The one that battles day to day perceiving the voice of the Messiah

The one that still dreams of parental love that borders on idolatry

The jubilant light of day 

The one that writes fantasies in the orphanhood of a sonnet

turning out nostalgic fondness hoping that they tr...

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I request ...




Tie me to every beat of your heart

Make my hours your hours,

my desires your attention, a pretext,

a reason to think that we will have a beautiful crowning


I request the sea, the earth itself, the sun,

the fusion of our bodies,

the warmth of your kisses


I request... a fragment of tenderness to this love



©Noris Roberts

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Pink walls, or is it off white?

Dark red

Green and cheap pine.

Quiet whispers from lips

that read computer screens

with eyes half shut.


Fingers tapping on keyboards

Then phones.

Until something beeps or rings

And they can contact the world again.


And whispers become words to drown out the radio,

Our fellow faceless hiding behind speakers

to keep u...

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Lois EntwistleMBCpoem

yellow about the land

Odorous under the towers
confounded misty teeth beyond the rain
the sin continues
quaking before the trees
you stroke dank vapors under the flowers
I reach insanity yellow about the land
as we dream of evil over the virgin
crazy, passionate, open-eyed, hungry
over the horizon
something missing
out of dreams
a stranger
takes comfort
he knew no-one
yellow about the lan...

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poetry by wytchewoodewytchewoodepoempoetry

Chained orgasms are biting my lips



A prisoner in your skin ...

discreetly the night slips between my sheets, in the verses of dawn,

sketching ecstatically the loud kiss that grows in my body,

there where the brilliance becomes eternal

and consciousness of myself in your hands,

I do not know if this is an adventure or a creation of my madness.


Naked ...

I pour out shamelessly the pleasures of the ...

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Breathe in the Dust

I have my own little piece of the world.
Sure, it has its problems, but nothin’ too much.
It has its pleasures and there’s more than enough.
And I’ll share them with you; I will share them with you.

So, put down that rifle, and put down that gun.
Let’s take back those words that hatred begun.
Let’s tear down those icons that make us ignore
The cries of our own, the cries of our ...

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On the dispersal of water


It’s 1:30 am.

He takes me away from the others unpacking,

opens the front door to the first night

in our first home and squirts WD-40

over both hinges, explains

WD is water dispersal,

NASA concocted this stuff

to keep fields of rockets

from turning orange, then burnt umber.

He heard this on his pocket radio

cycling along blustery North London roads


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Graham Cliffordpoempoetrycontemporaryartcreative writingreactionphilosophybritish poetry

A Nicked Poem

Nicked was my poem*

I nicked that sucker right back

What a silly mess





The first line was suggested by Isobel.

After all my ranting about my stolen poem

I told myself I'd better give due credit.

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New  blog up an running have a look 

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Haiku about a Stolen Poem

A stolen poem

Took credit for my effort

Poem was removed

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Someone has stolen my poem

This time I'm not posting a poem. I'm asking for opinions.

I found one of my poems on a website but was not given credit for this poem.

Should I contact the sites administrator?

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From always ...


Nothing happens, I have no answers

Only the great sadness seems to assist me

Faced with despair, people are losing their identity

The word violence plays its language

Everything is corrupted

Everything looks bad, aging

In the thunder of the night I discover that my brother is my enemy

The only thing real is this sad reality


©Noris Roberts


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Somewhere, the 9 till 5 office worker stops me with a deadpan stare,
Fixes me with the times of timetables passed, the graph paper squares
Of tomorrow’s schedule. The high-rise offices never bother to look down.

I never liked the city.

Never really cared
for the city’s callousness, its daily suicide,
the shadow at the top of each building that watches with certainty.


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poetrypoempoemsGreek Mythmedusacitydespair

Gerry Potter interviewed by Dominic Berry about 'THE MEN POMES'

'The Men Pomes' by Gerry Potter
8pm, 29.2.12 - 3.3.12
Studio Salford, Kings' Arms, 11 Bloom Street, Salford £7 / 5
Tickets can be bought on the night at the door or bought online

Creator of Chloe Poems and writer of smash hit play 'Miracle', Ge...

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men pomesgerry potterpoemtheatreversegaysocialistfeministdominic berrystudio salfordkings armsmanchestersalfordperformancemenmanshow

My work used by Dreamcatchers for Abused Children (an official non-profit 501(c)3 org in the US).



Dreamcatchers for Abused Children (an official non-profit 501(c)3 child abuse and neglect organisation in the US) has a Missing Persons Division. They have used my video poem 'The Missed' (top left) on their page : 

I will be working with some charities and important organisations again in 2012. These a...

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John Harrisonpoetrypoempoetthe missingthe missed

"Welcome to Hufflepuff"

Here's a poem narrated by the Head of the Hufflepuff House at Hogwarts. It was inspired by a radio sketch by Mitchell and Webb. I'm not sure how much I like it; the rhythm is a little awkward in places, but I'd be interested to know what you think.

"Good evening dearest Hufflepuffs, It’s now in the proceedings Where I share some words To move forward From how you must be fe...

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HarryPotterHogwartsPoetryPoemHufflepuffsorting hatCedricDiggorybadger

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