Poetry Blogs (Apr 2013)

Popular last 30 days

Or worse

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As honesty doesn’t come in half measures

I squared up to him-

‘In this tin is worms,’ I said,

‘I won’t mince syllables,

As I am meant to be gritty-

There’s already too many

In this bit…’


Then we went to town

Dressed as old goths

And we went to town

On each other



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Also by Cathy Crabb:

Wolves |

Heals The Soul

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It's said

"laughter is

the best


But poetry

heals the




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Also by Shirley Smothers:

Jimmy Rockford | Ghostly Quiet | I'm Not Perfect | A Letter to Myself |


I Had A Bream (Fishermen's Tales)

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I had a bream

It got away

It shot upstream

To my dismay

I just caught a minnow

With my rod that day

Next time I’ll go to bingo

I’ll catch the matinee

I came home empty-handed

And low on self-esteem

So there and then

I told my mates I’d landed

A bag of thirty bream

(By half past ten)

I had a bream

It got away

It shot ups...

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Also by John Coopey:

"Michael Seen Flora" | Has Anybody Seen My Little Sarah? | My Biggest Fan (When You Say Nothing At All) | "Here's My Tits - My Arse's Behind" | Schadenfreude | There's Allus a Reason "Why Not" | Don't Look Twice - It's Cellulite |


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And we shall see

How these words develop

When they wrap around

The tall white spaces

Freeze-dried blocks of crystal matter


In cages our letters remain

Casting gloomy glances across the rain

The trees on fire, as are they

Who speak these words that live today

Made and given life


Now retracted, punish the crime

No-one allowed to speak their ...

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Also by David Blake:

History |


my shadow on his grave




Fearing was the theme

he instilled in us

from his bouts of darkness

as so many fear inherited Fathers do.


More than familiar was he

with his chronic complaint.

Stained with his shadows

we also became acquainted

with erratic disorder.


Such heavy baggage became our burdens.

Those containers of sorrow

labelled with all of ou...

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ThePoetry Spoke is back Fantastic NEW Venue -

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Info via link.




Full advert to follow nearer the 16th May - opening night.


Guest Poet - Guest Musician - Open Mic Poetry 


Every 1st & 3rd Thursday of each month.


Gallaghers Pub 

20 Chester Street



CH41 5DQ




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Also by Chris Co:

ThePoetry Spoke April - Open floor poetry & Guests | Nothing Left |

Not Ready

I'm sorry for all profile changes and removing blogs.

I've only been connected with this site 2 months and I've made a complete hash.

I'm sorry Tony when I realised you weren't what I was looking for I should have just pulled out, in all fairness you said I could,but I'm not saying sorry indefinately.

I thoroughly enjoyed my last read at The Tudor but would prefer to travel to Manch...

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Crab Fisherman

Crab Fisherman


He peers over the edge, measures out the line, then

lets drop his cloth bundle of bacon and trimmed fat,

and pulls them up, horned and furious,

two or three at a time, again and again,

their claws caught in his clever weave.


He carries them home for tea at seven,

twelve dancing crabs in a bucket of water.

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I stand before this mirror

Looking not at but through

My eyes push to recognise

Focus on a version of self

that at least holds some semblance

Or truth, I wait………..


Then ringing it comes!

And certain feelings

Lost like so many old keys turn up

And in this I re-gather

Windows open and I feel the rush

Of my own youth



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 with a long howl

 lessening down the night



 as a lost soul

falling a great height





And my

incredulous heart

 hissed  ` murderer! `



And died.

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Also by Harry O`N eill:

four from the Gazebo menu Epic | The way it was. |

How do women escape?

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He said-

''Hey see this?  this and that?

-he pointed at the washing-

then get it sorted.''

She said-

''where's the friggin money?''

The window cleaner avoided eye contact.

She said-

''there's no tea!''

He sat quiet.

She walked into the kitchen

- touched a swelling eye-

and planned her escape.


words and foto T Carroll

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Also by Tommy Carroll:

Wandering expositions | Let us bury the hatchet | ''Kiss my arse'' | Chin up chaps |

Water & Fire

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Such a disaster once had happened.

Water and fire had fallen in love

Master to hug the fire was maddened,

Was so much afraid to hug his love.


Strong arms of fire enchanted, gleamed,

All around him has brightened.

Pull over to her love water dreamed

But the flames of fire frightened.


Prideful and beautiful was the fire

With each coming day hi...

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Also by Larisa Rzhepishevska:

My Couch | I Am the Chair A day in the life of comp | Cognac |

fall in love

Drunk (Spinning Wheel Blues)

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Drunk (Spinning Wheel Blues)


Two o’clock

and feeling so high.

Walking on walls

and touching the floor.

Spinning wheel blues

in the back of your mind.

Knowing you can’t take



Churning stomach

in time with each spin

as the room turns over

and throws you aside.

You clutch to the bed

as though you would fall

and – somew...

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Also by Ian Whiteley:

Skool Daze | Pure O | The Ghost Of Summer | warRANT | Class Action | Waiting For Miss Write | Old Tyke Blues | Fields Of Carbon & Blood (1984) | Jigsaw | The Clown |

bed spinningchurning stomachdrunkroom spinningtime elapsing

What a Plane Day


What a Plane Day

I came home from work and saw GMP Defender spy plane circling where I live. I heard the turboprops as it did racetrack patterns going into clouds. I also saw a kid's balloon black on grey sky. Did Defender's camera pick it up?


Then I saw a second spy plane! A plastic Diamond DA42 prop plane. Hey, prop jets are more cool. Even crap Defender has them! You two ...

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ALL OF THE ABOVE | Italia with utube vid link of my gullivers headline gig |

aircraftflyingmachinesplanes in the sky

The last night remembered and spent

Tugging the stockings out the drawer

Clasp up clips, leave suit on the floor

Zip up my boots, apply more mascara

Anticipate nervously the oncoming drama


Start the engine on cold autumn night

You wanted me there, and I cannot fight

Tired, unsure, aware of the time

Knowing your impatience, I blur the white line


Bright lights feed confidence, feeling unf...

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Also by Katy Megan Hughes:

Banished from Eden | Retreat | Irish Sea |

lovelove poemlove poetry

The Worst We All Feared


The Worst We All Feared



Do you really think,

Do you really think that you

Are allowed a place in Heaven -

     After all you have seen,

After all you have experienced,

Do you really think you will

Take these memories with you??


     What is left of us,

What is there that goes beyond

The place we are tortured?

More than that,


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Also by Noetic-fret!:

Missing | Ghost | To The Bogus Caller | Spent | On Listening | Just Another Ode To Be Ignored |

Through Nantes

hot sweet breath on tense muscle
flexing fingertips pulsed all bluey
liquidity seeking new quick form
opening teased seeping coves
scratch scores of eager relief
pink rosy bruising geography
mapping a contour pressure
caressing crackling storms
that splice granite arteries
shear blunt battled barbs
for compromised hearts
the raved new interlude
scatters old reasoning
to a gold wonderlust
free an aged misery

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Also by Ralph Dartford:

Frampton Dreams of Springsteen (for dearest Gertrude) | Gladys Bettess | I, Corby | Hyde Park | Airbed 1: 2007 | Chemistry |

The Candy Train


on the please-come-in door

a bright brass knocker

and stained glass birds

rainbows on the walls

when the sun casts through


a dark scrolled shelf

hangs high in the hall

gleaming with candlesticks

cats dogs monkeys

and a clear glass train

its engine

full of coloured candy beads

glowing like jewels


up the stairs to bedtime

footsteps slow


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Also by Cynthia Buell Thomas:

Upon Originality | CBT in Sale on Tuesday |

childhood death

Unto the Somme

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Behind failing lines,
These curtains of shrapnel and sharp steel
Conceal my misery,
So seamlessly, absently
I go on, numb, alone,
For sensation no longer blesses me.

Relentlessly, I force back my fear,
The absent tears never reach my cheeks
And thick blankets of earth and sand
Choke my cries, damp,  pitiful.
I fall to the boards clotted with death
As my breath...

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Also by Simon Austin:

Broken Alone | For I am Gone |

battleconflictdeathpoemsoldierwarworld war I

The Queen.

I recently had to write a 'political poem' for an exercise. This was the result:


Fuck the Queen,

I never voted for her.


Well, no... don't actually fuck her,

Afterall I'm sure,

She's a lovely old lady,

But what more?


A lovely old Lady,

Just like my Grandma was,

but nobody ever sang her her own song.

Maybe if 'God Save Annie' was sung,


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Also by Thomas Roche:

An Hour Inside |

Stop the cuts

Stop the cuts, and stop the closures,
Private companies, trying to own us,
Globalist profits, tax payer exposure,
Figures kept under wraps, like a banker’s bonus.
Stop the cuts, ‘cos they’re completely unfair,
There’s no need, for cuts to welfare.
Why not abolish Trident next year,
And concentrate on the families living in fear?
Struggling to pay the rent this month,
Feed your...

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Also by Wez Jefferies:

Cycles |


Soon the vacant chair

Occasionally receiving his parcel of light,

he returns from the blindness in his mind


and gets ready to greet her.


It is only the hallucinatory power of love

temporarily conjuring with his awakening

making him believe she has been pardoned by death.


Time for hat and coat!


'my wife is coming to take me home!

he tells other residents excited...

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Our Las Vegas Wedding ( For My Love)


As our feet finally touch down on safe terra firma,

Thoughts of our marriage could not be further,

Jetlagged and weary,

In a strange foreign land,

From our port hole window,

Bright lights...rock silhouette,

Darkness disguising its sand.


Overwhelmed and exhausted,

Blackpool times a...

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a random-stitched acrostic. Click on image link for full visual to see photo for text formatting.   :-)


Though stars above us dim
And all about is hid from sight;
When spiralling shadows flee,
Distant pinings, kindling light.
Although our dreams are broken chains,
Their scars decry discordant strains.

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This is Freedom

We gazed at children so expectantly

and after thirty-two years of that


we’re still fondling my vasectomy

while pondering new ways of losing fat.


She watches re-runs of The Walking Dead;

I’ve got live streams showing Aston Villa.


She’s relaxed as an axe chops off soft heads;

I’m tense and nervous as a Psycho Killer.


She treats cut and bruis...

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Swimming Lesson

Emerging from the depths
gasping for oxygen,
once on the surface, recoiling
from the incineration
of sunrays penetrating
a chlorinated sheath.
Flooded lungs
like inflated airbags,
bleary eyes dazzled
by light
the colour of orangeade,
pouring through the high windows.

As they crowd around me,
staring intently
they are birthday balloons
being over-inflated,
then ...

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Also by Amy Ismay:

Clarity | Waiting for It | Night at the Rotunda |








In the morning she was mother again,

breakfasting gaily on the remaining quarter bottle,

whilst you trekked to ‘the shop’

like a disgruntled wine waiter sent to distant cellars.

Don’t desert me held you hostage in the kitchen,

listening, as she worried at the past, for the first slouched words

that made you want to slap her.

By ...

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The Hierarchy of Death

One swan is worth fifty sparrows

Three eagles for thirty blackbirds

and one jackdaw's worth five robins


For swan, read Brit

for sparrow, Syrian

for eagle, read Yank.

Blackbirds are Iraqis

The jackdaw's an Israeli

and the robins Palestinians.


Dead good isn't it.

Dead simple

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   Urban sprawl,

   Graffitied walls

   High rise flats.

   Hooded twats?

   City dwellers? 

   Cocaine sellers?

   Eyes on sticks

   And cars on bricks.

Everybody’s feeling

The youths are dealing.

   Slowly drowning,

   Always frowning.

   Trying to impress you,

   Even oppress you.

   They look rough,


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Also by Pete Slater:



What if our total experience

is managed by forms that are

beyond our cosmic constintuency?

What if our lives are not lived but

adhered, negated?


Love and rage,

peace and imperfections.


Each of us may well be unreal,


contolled by some future government

or gaming company.


What if our hardware wears out

and leaves our skeleton wan...

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Also by Kealan Coady:

Words No Bigger Than Nails | Blonde Memory |

Straight Lines

Straight lines
I watch them quietly
they are everywhere

whichever way I turn
whenever I scan the rooms
to understand more

they live around corners
and turn with a parallel force

in the shoe box
on the floors, on roofs
along fingers and toes

down the railway tracks
in your most hidden alleys

sometimes they sit across me
looking strong, confident

elsewhere they are l...

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#poetry #lit #creative #writing #shaleenrakesh.blo

Golden Dream

I open my eyes

Life is strange, full of fear

I have lived many a year

Never looking at the bricks

Just staring at walls


Travelling on a narrow and winding road

A fork triplicating my soul

Religion provides a gleaming light

A golden dome forever bright

Questioning the Creator's proven might


Engrossed by tempting Masonic majesty

Praying to a...

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Also by Jules Clare:

Numbers | The Good Old Days | Celebration | Anger | Heaven and Hell |


Two a.m.

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Starting as a low murmur,

White Noise,

My mood blackens,

Reason detaches itself from me.

That...fuzzy feeling clouds my brain,

Panic pushes all else aside.


Thoughts turn back to home,

Fears I can't speak of,

Getting older,


Mind traps.


"Things will never change"

I see myself give up,


Unable to convey

What ...

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Without consideration, pity or shame 
they have built grey walls between us.
Despair eats each mind and we meditate nothing.
We paid no attention to its building,
We heard nothing.
No noise of mallet, trowel or mixer.
Imperceptibly they have shut out the world.

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Mum's Dream - حُلْمُ أُمْ (العربية /


Mum's Dream
In the deep black darkness of the night
I seek him:
walking, running,
stumbling. My blood-stained feet
refuse to stop,
cannot stop,
must not stop,
searching for him.
In the deep black darkness of the night

I adore him, for death I love him,
look forward to the day I shall meet him,
throw myself between his arms,
put my head on his shoulders and just...

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The Blahs

Expression is not my forte;
foot slipping centipede that I am, queuing up
for my opportunity to speak; my mouth
a pulp of green words.
The clumsy arcs in my conversation
are like fluffed popsicle sticks
underneath the couch, unable to draw
attention. I do not have villas, or cornfields
or seascapes to draw my inspiration;

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Also by Marianne Daniels:

Virus | The Seagull |

On Reflection

f w t e r a n i f o v g u l j i m e n u l ? i h t s f t h s ? i a d t e i ? r e n ? s r a a g e ? t b t r v ? s a

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Also by Roger Fizzerton:

What happened, you ask? | Shangri-Cathay Arousal | ♪ An arrangement of notes about three lighthouses ♪ |

One Of Us - A Stephen Lawrence Tribute

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Twenty years ago, 
he is waiting for a bus,
'Cos twenty years ago 
he is simply one of us.
But just twenty years ago, 
he comes under attack,
Just 'cos twenty years ago, 
this teenager is black.

Twenty years ago, 
he runs for his life,
'Cos twenty years ago, 
racists stick him with a knife.
Twenty years ago, 
this firework is far too fleeting,
And so twenty yea...

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MemorialpoemracismStephen Lawrence


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I will

Form into an black shell

Slime on the window.

Curl an ending

in an air trap


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Also by Winston Plowes:

Never - |


I was not impressed by the LIKES of that masked thug seen running at a police horse and

punching it in the face - and who was later reported to be receiving "disability" benefit!


Spare us your song of self-pity

The world's had enough of that ditty!

The refrain stays the same -


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Also by M.C. Newberry:


Cod Consensus (more Myth-Pricking)

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We smelt the piles of rubbish in the street
and read by candles in the freezing dark,
we watched for Nazi skinheads in the park
and heard the moan of Britain's long defeat.
The old paternalism kept us down
in triple-binds of accent, race and creed;
and yet we thought we nurtured hope indeed,
though dreams of aspiration went unknown.
And then the old consensus passed away
with ...

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Dark Night

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What of you my darling

My dearest one

What of you within the warm shimmer of day

Fey careless heart

God gifted you dark night

For all your errant swirling dreams to sail

Far away across deep forever running seas

Storm and tempest ever

Tossing you upon some far distant shore

To sleep forever and dream amore

What of you my darling

My dearest one


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messy field

warning ,

satanic wordplay is at work here

kicking in barn doors laughing

the other day i found out that cromwell got the fa-buck da digged up and hung

information is exciting

being smacked in the face was much better

there's nothing like blood


open wide

loyal to demonic activities

get the chanting going


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a note to those without hope Empathic illness. |

When The World Was Young (and so was I)

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That dance that glance
that suedehead stance
Them 2 tone covered ska tracks
them union flags
them bald scumbags
that culture that was hijacked
that toothless Jerry
that white Fred Perry
them blunt end skinny ties
those boots and braces
them shiny faces
when the world was young and so was I

That punch off Manny
that finger that fanny
that mad twat on our estat...

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Words Escape Me Poet Salford manchester

Jail Writings

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Jail Writings* (letters to self)


-I dreamt that I woke up in someone else's bunk bed. under the mat I found an array of knives, shanks and "evil" shrine material wrapped up in a mess. Guards dress me like a doll. I guess they found me at virginia avenue in minneapolis. not knowing why is the worst, especially because you were there. drunken idiot.


-even time to waste i...

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baked thoughtsconfuseddreamsidiotjailkrakenLovemetro transitmissed gigmistakesMNtalitymusicpolicereasons 2 eat hamsleep bunk bedswhiskey

Requiem for an oak

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I thought I saw an execution there.
The fascinated public gathered round.
The cheerful hangmen stripped the victim bare
and built their gibbet high above the ground.
The rope was taut. My wildness filled with fear.
I saw him fall. I heard his final cry.
Yet when the hangmen left I ventured near
to find my fault: I'd never seen him die.
   In fact, I think he'd died some years ag...

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There is No Such Thing as Society

Iron Lady

Munchkin cabinet

Yuppie winner

House buyer

Property owner

Falkland's hero

Powerful dictator

Our duty

Look after

One's self

Union destroyer

Tory fighter

Killer Queen

Poll tax

Inner City

Culture riots

Police brutality

Shields overtime

Disperse strikers

Miners fall

Maggie rules

Crushed workers

Labour ...

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Turning back - - - on a time when fat cats got fat

A day in the life of comp

A little reminder to send in your votes to nickjclifton@yahoo.co.uk

If you have entered a poem (inanimate object) please ensure the correct tag has been used:

A day in the life of comp

cheers for now,


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Also by Nick Clifton:

Reminder: A day in the Life Of Comp |

A day in the life of comp


god said “there’s a bone in my soup”

and spat it out


and for many years it crawled

before it learned to stand


where it said “I will make you now a fresh bowl,

from my family’s blood”

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Also by Paul Sands:

MQ-9 | Itchy | mild frenzy | I'm working dammit | what crisis? | Cromer | spring billed jack |


Show more entries …

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