Poetry Blogs (Mar 2013)

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It's easier not to love

Sometimes it’s better when you don’t have to love,
Easier when she just doesn’t give a fuck,
She said I didn’t play the pornstar, and that’s a good start,
But tonight we’ll agree neither of us have a heart.
And like a weight that’s been relieved,
Like new lungs still waiting to breathe,
There’s no pressure, or so I made myself believe.
So in the morning you can just get up and lea...

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Also by Wez Jefferies:

Support the troops | Free Shaker Aamer | One for the couple at the back |

lifeloverhymesex

BENEATH THE TREES OF LILAC

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BRIAN EVANS 2012

DISPIRITING CLOUDS THAT

ENSHROUDED US IN TWILIGHT

BENEATH THE TREES OF LILAC

NATURES PERFUME FILLS THE AIR

AS WE WALK TOGETHER

HAND IN HAND

ALONG THE PATH OF LOVE

LONGING ,YEARNING FOR

EACH OTHERS TOUCH

ENSHROUDED IN TWILIGHT

WAITING FOR THE DARKNESS

TO HIDE US, ALONG THE PATH OF LOVE

THE MOON IS HIDDEN BY THE CLOUDS

DARKNESS FALLS AND LOVE BEGINS

...

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Also by BRIAN EVANS:

SILENCE | NOSTALGIA | LOVE IS BORN | LOVE NEVER DIES |

The Penultimate Battle

It’s has always been easier to slay us

With your obedient insecurities

Cheerfully devoted to poetic doom

You speculate, create and anticipate

A wheel of fortune that spins in your tomb

Lashing and flaying against happiness

You claw and spit against the lid

Of exhausted insight and recognition

Crying out against comprehension

With a scream of lies and unravell...

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Also by Katy Megan Hughes:

Nesting | Suspicion | Equinox | The Cottage II |

lovelove poetry

Ticking off the List

 

  

I miss your face, I miss your smile,

That look you gave, when you were around,

The memories are here to stay

Now you're gone, I just feel empty

 

I scan the contents of the page

And keep ticking off the list,

I hear the wind outside

Whispering your name

 

Halfway down the stairs I stop

Listening to the tick of the clock

In the lonely air of the hall

...

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Also by Hazel Connelly:

Sext at Sixty | A Curry Sir.. |

silent witness

Beside the motorway

the burrowed grassworlds of scurriers

are always open for business.

 

The trees above them involuntarily dance,

wafted mostly by juggernaut displaced air.

 

For some of the luckier foragers

trees are their umbrellas

from too much sun,rain or Kestrel-

that clear,sharp eyed,wondrous,ethereal,fantailed drummer

seeking his fayre

 

...

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the small american mammal lied

the coldest nights are the quietest

though the litter chatters around my feet

like the arctic teeth of an almost corpse

and the gas settles close to home

glassy in it’s  welcome

 

the trees, taut, still brittle of bone,

clench every desperate sinew

as fleshless fingers on a wintered birch

gnarl a carpal tunnel to the council’s moon

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Also by Paul Sands:

revolution runs better on stolen gasoline | cleansing the orphanage with fire and prayer | bowie (if you didn't know) | Free | Mountebank | This Pig Society | For Cornelia (after viewing ‘Neither From Nor Towards’ then visiting the Norfolk coast) | Ruined |

coldgloomygroundhogwhere is springwinter

Blood Privilege Review

 

"Blood Privilege"
Written by Don Fried
Directed by Andy McQuade
The White Rabbit Theatre
Stoke Newington, London
March 27 - April 14 2013
 
Review by Alain English
 
Fringe company Second Skin Theatre continue their run of theatrical hits with this chilling look at Elizabeth Bathory, a Hungarian Countess accused of murdering over 600 women.  
 
...

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Also by Alain English:

Paper Tiger Poetry March 15th |

Escapism

My very first book.

Wonderfully illustrated.

Helping to give birth to imagination,here

above and assisting largely printed words

gradually coming to life,forming thoughts.

 

A very neccessary stepping stone

filled with enough to enthrall any three year old as I was then

and shape my way to roads ahead.

 

Roads I was to discover had stories

of their ow...

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Wake up Britain and smell the coffee!

 

 

Hey you!

put down that paper

full of hypocrisy and lies

why let Murdoch indoctrinate you?

you are not one of the one percent

not for you their deceit

their toxic measures

to turn man against man

woman against woman

when united we must stand

against our oppressors!

 

Take note!

dailies rile hatred and poison

aiding and abetting ...

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Also by Lynn Dye:

Snowy Window |

My poets

Are you up today,

or are you down,

are you wearing a smile,

or a frown,

are you average this evening,

or simply fragile ?

Both my poets,

present as clowns.

 

One young, only just beginning,

one mature

and ever so giving,

one's stole my soul,

one's heightened my senses,

I hope none of us part.

 

One my harshest critic,

one my sh...

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Thoughts Are Things

Thoughts are things

Not things that disappear when your mind is closed

Or a wave of energy that fades away

Oh no, thoughts are things

They’re here to stay

 

So when I see you face to face

I take that vision place to place

And when I’m tired and sleeping fast

That thought is with me in my dreams

Because thoughts are things

They’re here to stay

 

...

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Also by Steve:

The King of the Garden | TV |

lovethought

In The Frame

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In The Frame

 

We met in an antique shop,

while you were sifting through

dusty memories

and tarnished gilt.

I was new and bright -

just what you needed in your life

at that time of regrets

and heartaches.

 

So we went home together

and you placed me on a pedestal.

The centre of a universe

that orbited your soul.

I put my arms

aroun...

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Also by Ian Whiteley:

Forget Me Not | Encounter (This Motorway's Mine) | The Hoodoos | From Virginia | The Trade Name | Copernicus’ Commentariolus | Black Widow | A Step Towards Winter |

a day in the life of compin the frame

Chess

I always felt it would be a game,

between you and I.

Cat and mouse I thought,

me the cat,

playing the chase,

never leaving your side,

wrong was I.

 

It turned out to be chess we play,

you chose black,

leaving me with white,

you being from the dark side

and I from the light..

 

I moved first,

you next,

drawing us close,

game on,

...

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Wings

 

Wings

 

Those walls could have been

A hundred feet tall,

No, a thousand feet

With every inch taken like breath,

And I’m sure the humility behind them,

The exhaustion to climb them,

Would take the deepest intake of air,

     Still,

No walls knew this man,

No walls could keep

Boundaries of forfeiture,

To see the stars tumble

From looki...

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Also by Noetic-fret!:

On Being Here | Middle Eastern Man | Stop! | Hysteria | Travelling | Falling On A Crutch | Through Broken Glass |

UK Prime Ministers

Prime Ministers Walpole, Compton, Pelham read this from a book
P-Holles, Cavendish, Stuart, Greville, and Wentworth take a look

Pitt, Fitzroy, North, Petty, Bentinck makes you think
Perceval, Jenkinson Pitt younger I think I need that drink

Addington, Grenville, Canning, Robinson, Wellesley nowhere done
Grey, Lamb, and Peel, Russell reciting this for fun

Stanley, Gordon, Temple,...

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Prime Ministers

UK GIN DEPENDENCE PARTY

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UK GIN DEPENDENCE PARTY

 

We’re not fascists, are we, dear?

Bring that bottle over here.

Now. Where was I? Enoch Powell?

Sod this irritable bowel!

Do you play goff? Come down the club.

Just a snifter, lovely grub……

What, no blazer? Borrow mine.

Chin chin. Maggie, ‘79!

 

Now. Where was I?  Nigel Farage.

Dear! More bottles in the garage.

Really ...

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Grope Lane

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Ah, the shame of ill-placed modesty!

Perhaps we should be satisfied that at least part of the whole name remains, unlike many street names which have submitted to the puritanism of local councils.  In York, for example, it’s even been sanitised to Grape Lane.

Three cheers, then, for the people of Wakefield who protested and successfully thwarted the renaming to “Tittle Cott”...

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Also by John Coopey:

Chris Huhne | Paint It Beige | 50 Shades of Earl Grey | Ollie the Otter | To Munt - A Barnsley Conjugation | The Dog's Bollocks | WonderBale |

Pile of Stones Shackleton Moor

The final passage of man’s impact

Stones won and worked from a gritty rock face

Once made a shelter, a base, a home

Long abandoned and without form

A vegetated hump on the moor edge reveals

Tilted on its clean worked facet

A stone sink in ashlar remains whole

Testimony to lore

Cleanliness’ was next to godliness

In the high lonely Pennines

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Also by Graham Ramsden:

Castlerigg Stone Circle | Thirteen Shouting Americans | Watershed This Morning | The Beck Stone |

HillsPenninesStones

CUT AND PASTE THE MILLSTONE INTO A TIME MACHINE

The exterior appears alive

The interior's brown bread

 

The smile smiles but the head's mashed

H'orderves shattered, tattered and scattered

Over a kaleidoscope ocean swell

 

The bell tolls out of control like a fire engine on heat

Beating faster, harder, threatening to burst the ticker

On the B of the bang

 

Badly drawn curtains

Expose the writing...

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untitled

I thought this afternoon's flower of

romance couldn't blossom any farther

but then you sent me an email telling

me all about your mum. I'm not afraid

to admit it sweetheart: I filled up over

your memories of her teaching your dad

to make jam; they must have loved

each other very much indeed.

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Also by Richie Muster:

Our Sacred Day (April Is So Far Away) |

no labelsno tags

The Silver Line.

Don't go looking for a silver lining in this piece, there isn't one.

 

Get onto 'The Silver Line' if you're feeling full of impotent pain

and/or rage about entering into old age; there are people there

working without a wage who'll listen to you and offer help and/or

advice. (0800 328 8888)

 

I phoned them last Saturday (March 9th actually) after suffering a

horr...

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Also by Philip Fletcher:

FOR MISERABLE FAILURES EVERYWHERE. | Ogling. |

extreme lonelinessline dancingold English innssins of passion

The Wakefield Trinity

 

Sunday morning,
on a hill.
With a friend.
Once a lover.

The wind bites,
and the mud larks,
at our boots.

I am quiet.
My head,
in someone's bed.
Far away from here.

It begins to sleet.
My eyes sting.
Heartbeat missed.
My friend laughs.

And I start to cry.

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Also by Ralph Dartford:

A Question Concerning Daphne | Like Montgomery Clift |

The Golgi.

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Life's colours are painted by the brush our brain cells create.
 


The Golgi, "a neuron in the cerebral cortex with short dendrites
and with either a long axon or a short axon
that ramifies in the grey matter."
I hope to turn my grey matter into a rainbow,
each strand of light connecting to my heart's valves.



Curiosity - a humans speciality,
our chef's signature d...

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The Down Time

 

The down time creeps up like old Bolton smog

 soaking into my flesh

and trickling black treacle

that thickens from within the mesh

 of chaos, thoughts, decisions

crossroads and dead ends.

 And before long the gloom of the down time

becomes regular time and time stands still.

 

When I’m up I smile and glow

Like the summer solstice

but when the do...

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Also by Martin Bailey:

The Membrane of Your Soul | Lycanthropy | Of Pirates and Poets |

depression

PIC-USB-4550-sch.

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Is that you? In the mirror.
Unstoppable, decay.

Is that you? In the plaster.
On the wall. Fading away.

Is the heartbeat, so disjointed,
that you will fade, and fade away?

Has your body, completed changing?
Does the blood vapourize, then decay?

And is your father waiting?
Is your mother waiting too?

And your husband, and your husband,
Is he waiting, there for you?

...

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Is that you?

Looking at the gravestone, from unimaginable heights,

Shows less and less of the fight you put up to avoid turning out the light.

All those maybe's and mights,

Like an equation you just couldn't work out quite right.

Is that you?

I threw the question to the stone,

My fingers slowly glossing the golden lettering; still alone.

Is that... You? Cold bone and structure lo...

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Also by Joy Claypool:

AND FEAR IS NOT YOUR FRIEND | MEET THE PIG | TONIGHT |

Untitled

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Withered flowers fastened to a wasting bench,
Its plaque and pickled paint are weathered long.
The buckled slats curl flecks on harshest winter's freeze.
Where age defies intent to which it did belong.

As passers-by whom in their daily cues entrenched,
They, wrapped in woolen shields, look blindly on
And notice not the broken petals on the breeze,
Nor sense the echo of a parted an...

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Also by Simon Austin:

Humanity Lost | Waves (A Final Letter Home) |

deathlossloveMemorialpoemsadnesssoul

I took his word as golden.

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And it turned copper in my hands. Now I'm stuck. And expensively mobile. You look good in a wig, Why do you ask?

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Dawn Demure versions

 

Dawn Demure

Dawn December day.

Machine peacefully sleeps.

Slumber banished.

RAF pilot.

Spitfire!

Kept warm, mission time, Norway bound.

Snow, fjords, mountains.

Cockpit, aboard, checks,

rise, feathery clouds.

Recon.

Fine machine, woman.

Precision engine.

Exquisite cameras, spy on Nazi’s Christmas.

Thousand mile trip, freedom.

Gen...

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Also by NICK ARMBRISTER:

STORM CHASER | Zombie | Thun Lit | Skull City | Dawn and Dusk (for Anneke van Giersbergen) | Swim in the Sea | NATALIE SERIES POEMS/BOOK |

flyingfreedomnorwayrecon spitfire spyplanetirpitz battleship

ThePoetry Spoke March - Open floor & Guests

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  'ThePoetry Spoke'

Great poetry and acoustic music

Tuesday - Tomorrow!  26th March- 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

Write Out Loud's - Dave Morgan

Dave's poetry leaps through kitchen sink dramas, c...

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Also by Chris Co:

Think TANK! | Some Politicians |

The Last Word

 

Right.

When the air is clear,

Not quite as blue

And every other problem

Isn’t you,

When the demon lit

Calms the hue

And allows another point of view-

Then I’ll grind the shells

Beneath my shoe

And I’ll hope it’s not too late

And worth the wait.

Also-

Get some bin bags.

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A QUESTION OF FREEDOM

My father's generation was lost to give freedom to the world

Into the maelstrom of World War One he and his kind were hurled.

When the carnage was over and the survivors staggered back

There was little here left for any brave man-jack.

And when World War Two was declared over twenty years on

That generation was called upon and once more to war had gone...

To free the peo...

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Also by M.C. Newberry:

SPLIT INFINITY | THE PRIMROSE - a reprint | PAPER CHASE |

the Dark Side to each other's Moon

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12/1/12

 

Ripples in the water. Forever bouncing. The transformation from Sea to Land. The water. a Constant Surge. Pulsating Tides. those Building Blocks. Keeping a foundation grounded. The motive behind the pen.

_______----_____________-----_____________----_____________----_______

Are we all just words in a pictionary born again to have meaning? The reality I belong to ...

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1722baked thoughtsbuilding blockscloudsdancefunnelgreatLovemississippi riverMNtalityquestionsapstormTimmy Mitullitruthwrite

Sheila

The return of the poet JULES...
 
I used to write 1000 poems a year.
 
I have not written one for seventeen months.
 
I have just written one. It might not be much good. But it is special to me.
 
Here it is:-

...

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The Darkening Brume

What light across the cloudless bay

Falls placid on thy peerless face

Relected on the now calm sea?

That in its rage did toss in

Tidal abandon the wreckage

Of the human condition cast

Recklessly from the shore.

 

Do not despair nor fling thy dreams

From this vapid spit which clings by

Wiry Marram to this wretched

Isle, detritus ringed on littoral

...

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Also by Andy Ainsworth:

Dreams | Morning |

Our Sanctuary

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enchanting  armies of harmony...Phalanxes of rhythmic phoenixes.......remixing life to art art to life dark to light death to life.......music is our sanctuary music is our life to art art to life the art of life is the heart of life...... lifes A cycle like sum hyped CD or 12 inch vinyl spiral tribes thrive.........revolutionary recital....like breath music’s vital enlightened or suicida...

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ChriSJaMmanchesterpoetryspeakeasySpoken Word

Set from March's "Pop Up Poetry"

My performance of "Thomas", "Fishmonger", "The Creation of Beans", and "Puppy Dreams" at Pop Up Poetry in March. Thanks to Janice Windle for making the video!

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Junkie 4 Love

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I am wasted and all strung out,

Don’t have the voice to shout,

The lonesome blues have gotten to me,

I am hooked on you - can’t you see,

It’s an addiction - a terminal infection,

I need a shot of you - a lethal injection,

 

My slow burning fuse is about to ignite,

I just can’t find the strength to fight,

Climbing the walls as they close in,

It’s my punish...

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Also by Tom Doolan:

Spring Has Sprung | Love Has Crucified Me | Tea Total Infusion | Coffee Mate |

Is

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''Is that all that 

there is?''

 

All that

there is-

is,

and

'is' is

all that

is there.

 

''all that 

is there

is there?''

 

all that

there is there-

is there

 

''is that all

that there is?''

 

all that is there-

is all that there is.

 

words and foto(self-portrait) Tommy Carroll

(trans...

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Also by Tommy Carroll:

Christianity and other myths | Cohen |

click click click

entry picture
my poem put through a google translator ?! into gangsta rap
  click click click Thursdizzle 13th January 2011 7:16 pm (first posted Wednesdizzle 12th January 2011 11:53 pm)

Ouch

That was a funky-ass big-ass house

Came down up tha sky

And up in tha end it fell on me

Just mah sparkly Nikes ta show

 I straig...

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Radio Interview

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go to the woods -

 

I stood in the tall mirror 

on the border of puberty,

not long before i had learned to see myself.

Glass against foil, a simple trick.

 

Even though the foil was peeling,revealing itself plain

i believed

in something better

and i looked right in to the point where they say He hides

deep inside the ripples of glass

and i squinted my eyes

knowing ...

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AND SO..........

And so, The true voice emerged, Out of worthless words, Blurted by the herds, Who claimed to care, But only shared, Whats left of a third, The equivalent of a turd, Compared to my worth, Disturbed, When I reversed the cycle of the absurd, To turn, And witness the stern, Of people who never earnt, Or learnt, What I originaly yearned, And now the back burns, The bums of those return...

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Good River Feeling Bad

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Thirty

Rivers carry debris until floods release ghosts

So the dead can make deposits and withdrawals

Planks, fallen branches, corpses of fish, fowl, mammals and dreams

Become ghost ships carrying organisms to new destinations

With water as medium the dead and the undead sally forth as equals

 Two: 

Good River Feeling Bad

 Her voice is deep water

Though she’s too shallow ...

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

Trapped Inside |

bare feetcrocusriverwide bottom

....of words or people

Jostling egos demand a hearing.

Who is listening?

or enjoying?

Scribblers desperate to win, to be read.

Who reads?

or appreciates?

 

Here is my book it's only three pounds

to buy, I wrote some at

workshops, more on a weekend course, and

did you hear

I won a competition, and

I was second in a slam, and

I had two guest spots last month, and

...

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What Billy Collins taught me about my first ever poetry reading…

It was by chance, or I would like to think destiny, that I happened to notice glossy postcard sized advertisements sprawled across the faculty workroom table with BILLY COLLINS written in rather large, noticeable white capital letters against a solid charcoal background. Detailes were in much smaller print written in both white and red surrounding his name. My heart must have skipped a few beat...

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Without having sought you

 

Without having sought you,

love turned into skin and dwelt among us,

you and I,

just one world

 

I see you with my soul,

you give me warmth, your hands assure me,

your words come to me

and gifted me with a new life

 

Nothing was spared!

 

I know that you love me and from so much love,

we’ll continue to live for our love,

because our ...

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Also by Noris Roberts:

When the yearning comes... |

love poem

The Twenty First of March

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The twenty first of March!

It’s a rainbow’s arch as such.

Equinox in springs

World Poetry Day brings.

 

It’s not an accidental event.

It gives this day a certain content.

A content to all those who can fly

And to all those who new things try.

 

A poetic word is an art.

It comes straight from the poet’s heart.

It gives a poetic word a chance

...

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Also by Larisa Rzhepishevska:

I Am a Woman | World Sleep Day | March Is In Love |

poetry

On the Shelf

On the Shelf

He called me damaged goods,

One of the undateables.

A worthy cause for charity,

But not someone you’d

Ever want as a girlfriend,

A live-in-lover, or a wife.

It hurt but he was right.

I traced the lonely line

Of my scar,

Sad that it would

Never be kissed.

The best thing seemed to

Be to turn from music

 I could no longer dance t...

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Also by Jacqueline Pemberton:

Moving House |

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