Poetry Blogs (Jul 2013)

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They found a mint condition MX Peacekeeper missile.                                                         Fover two decades the peace had been kept.                                                               Until now.                                                                                                                       They fired the damn thing at three cities.   ...

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CHOKE POINT | Above Our City | BRICK WALL | Fey Times | YOUR HOUSE | Hex | KIA | India |

nuke everyoneoh hellwar gun dead manwe've a bomb

On The Verge is on Kindle

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Great news! I've re-published my e-book On The Verge on Amazon, so you can now buy it direct from the Kindle store. As before, all profits go towards saving the Black Rhino. It's still available on Smashwords, and from all the e-book retailers I know of. Enjoy!   



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Also by Tim Ellis:

Half-price book! |


yesterday caught up, panting,

riding the crashed cash of signed association

and mimicked accusations of bleak envy

with several scenes already written

most earning a one star rating

from the hindsight of double scrutiny


were that jeopardy a statute of memory

nervous cats might not need to dress to impress

and hide non fictional facts from

the dirty word...

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Also by Paul Sands:

fear yourself |

The Watcher In The Sunken Grove

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In the garden, the sounds are small
that take me back to fond times;
the curling up and crying crawl,
belie the screaming sighs and crimes.

When in a moral shed of sticks,
with doctors there at play with silver
metals and poison pinpricks;
I see that time has trapped me under.

These relatives, a clique of pain;
the sins masquerading as the faithful.
When they come back to se...

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Also by David Blake:

Antigenesis | The Diving Board | Alone In Cyberspace |

To A Lover, Overcome

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To a lover, overcome with panic and lust,

think back to that summer and that first song.


Sinew inside the mind, a singing black slug, snug,

leaving lines in the cortex, a tune of dementia.


The ticks, tremors and sounds of envious children.

A wilting, sad cluster of flowers, dropped.


Crescent half-thoughts into action as the song ends

and steer vitri...

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everything shatters down below

bits and pieces of good bad and  everything you know

seeping through your hands like sand

trying to hold on to the good and bad

for the bad makes it real

and the good makes you feel

but all is gone

bits and pieces out of reach done!

all that there is is nothingness

A new beggining ? or a tragic ending?

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Oh ! behold the joy of woman hood.

so tender and so sweet,

that turns into a monster for about a week.

Oh you can see it coming, of that there is no doubt ,

when you ask a simple question and all you get is a shout.

Simple tasks accompanied by a silent roar,

as she bangs and stamps,slamming every door.

Tears flow at the slightest mischance,

As the inner couldren bubbles.


Read more …



I remind her of her father

She reminds me of her mother

That's why we're so happy together

We bring out the worst in each other



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Also by Gareth Glyn Roberts:

Eggy bread |

A caterpillar's tale


Today I am a caterpillar, I am knobbly and green,
I cut that path through the leaf behind me, it shows you where I've been.
I crawl slowly on my belly and I am rubbery like jelly,
And if I should slip from this here cabbage, I might end up somewhere smelly.
But soon I will go through changes, that you would not believe,
I'll say goodbye for a while to the cabbage...

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Also by Mark Mr T Thompson:

The Empowerer | He saw a hooded figure |

butterflycaterpillarchangechildren's poetrygrowthks2transformationtransition




     My eyes are cursed,

They belong to a world

That destroys what they love,

They have no barriers,

No forms of protection

Against what they see,

     When blindness comes,

It will not be a relief,

For my sense of sound

Within the dwellings I live

Bare no fortitude too,


Within this city

There are makings of many

A ...

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Also by Noetic-fret!:

Every Veterans Hair is Turning White | Moments of Calm | The Accepted Way of Being | The Borrow | Their Future Day | Money's Killing Everything We Owned | Born - The Long Sleep | This World We Now Lost | Don't Hold Sway With the Obvious |

No title

she doesn't want to make love

she wants to fuck

she doesn't need tenderness

she needs to take it rough

she doesn't want to start out slow

just take her now and don't let go

steal her breath, take her pain

make her feel herself again

she wants the passion hard and fast

make it yours then give it back

she wants to feel herself release

and feel that afte...

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Also by Kath Hewitt:

3.15, Room 7 | Shut Down | Sounds of Suburbia | Sycamore Babies |




A giraffe fell from a spaceship

and landed in my bath.

I told my friends about it,

but all they did was laugh.


They struggled to believe me

until they saw the truth.

A giraffe with a telescope

appearing from my roof!


For more nonsense poetry visit www.georgestanworth.com


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GiraffeSilly poemsSurreal poetryUnbelievable Poetry

"Gurkha heroes are 'overwhelming' our town!" *

Say Gerald Howarth
It makes us cowards feel nervous
The thought that the security guard
At Morrisons may have shanked more of the "enemy"
Than we've heated Morrisons' ready meals
Does not aid easy digestion
Nor thoughts of shoplifting
The retired ones have probably earnt the right
To sit on a Aldershot park bench
* Quote from gethampshire.co...

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Also by c byrne:

Waste Land | Poetry Nitez |

The Window

I hear the echoes of misguided footsteps,
things unkindly dropped, whispers;
the ripples of conversation
dappled through dust notes;
a geometry in sunlight.
The wood groans.
Twice I have had to move;
the heat through the windows
sodden in the pews;
hexagon boxes that outline the hall.
I have the dim light here;

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Also by Marianne Daniels:

Trees |

Ow Prefoster Day

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Many years ago when I was a student I had a summer job manning the Pitch and Putt hut at the local park.  One of the more entertaining aspects of the job was meeting the O’Dwyers.

The O’Dwyers pre-dated the programme “Shameless” by a good 40 years but its writers must surely have known them.

Of uncertain stock and disparate parentage, they seemed a United Nations mix of Romany, Irish an...

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Also by John Coopey:

The Rhymes They Are A-Changin' | Morning Star | Route 46 | We Are Lion | A Toast To Craig And Hannah | Ray-Bans |


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I’m not what it says on my passport

I’m not what the picture reveals

Deep inside is another me

Someone you cannot see


I’m not what it says on my badge

that picture is another me

He goes to work and makes all the money

The money he spends for me


I’m not what it says on the form

That’s nothing to do with me

And the reference number is just a num...

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Also by Steve:

Life | A Pub I Used To Know | Yourself | The Game Of Love | Pen To Paper |


Alien Feelings

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Alien Feelings


Shattered, splinters of midnight

caressing and glancing off skin.

White, frozen beams of moonlight

that spotlight two strangers dancing.

Electric blue, cutting through mist

as a small, fair hand is held near –

then a blinding flash as two lovers kiss

and a slow, gentle, ebbing of fear.


Eyes drawing near, then cutting like lasers


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Also by Ian Whiteley:

The Ballad Of Billy Nomates | Taking Root | Natural Selection | Sticks | The Westgate Run | The Jesus Gene |

aliendifferent speciesfeelingslovemen from marsreconciliationwomen from venus

Something different

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You robotic machine,

you speak to me,

transfer me from this miserable queue.

Socialite I appear to be,

but am not really.

Then you bug me,

have I my own bag ?

have I scanned my clubcard ?

do I have coupons ?

how would I like to pay ?

yet your manners outweigh,

the human robots on the other till.

Out witted you,

I have,

to get the right cha...

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From Daisy Hill to San Francisco


I wait.
In the rain,
at the top of the hill.

But no view,
no words,
of you.


I walk,
a cafe.
Steamed graffiti windows,
fried egg
racing papers.

I drink sweet tea,
chew toast.
Margarine minds,
soaked strangers.

They come,
and go.

In my bare bulbed room.
I draw open the window.

The crack,

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Also by Ralph Dartford:

Alex | Eighteen Sheets to the Wind | Business | Afters for Others | Columbia Road |

It seemed just a pebble

A little pebble

Dropt into so small a pool.

Such enormous waves.

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Also by Dave Bradley:

Death | The jaw-dropping scale of theft by the rich |


Nearly Ending

A secret close to closure

under lock and key

no one knows but me

what the day job will reveal?

Moving as well as shifting

it’s almost as I thought I’d feel

death and night seem funny bedfellows

even if they’ve never met

I don’t know why they call it a safe

because I’ve never known whats inside

not to be stolen yet

I do not speak of kisses

or lette...

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Also by di wayne:

disintegration | No More, Any More |

Slipstitch Day

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It was a hot slipstitch day,

The swallows ran invisible thread across the sky

And farmers unpicked lines of wheat

In woven fields that stretched to 

Plump cushioned trees -

Where we lay together against dew dangled threads,

Gazing at the eye of the needle -

So distant, so warm;

Whose gentle rays pulled the grass

Til it was hedgerow high.

Then we touched: ...

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countryside love


Flatlined. Red admiral turned cabbage white.

Our bed, once pale open casket creaks a chrysalis,

a steadfast metamorphosis of our gothic love story.

Set apart by vengeful spouses, hindwings skinned.

Living in separate houses, just over ten miles apart.


Beyond the ending in damask suburban banality

the vampire’s parable of a lover’s return fleets transient


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Also by Katy Megan Hughes:

One Year Apart | Rebirth | Love's Circumference |

lovelove poemlove poetry

Who are you

Who are you

From where do you come




You creep into every part

     like a dark smoke

Blotting out light-hope


Swallow - smoke retreats but never leaves


Just waits

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Also by Rob:

I hear |

Offend a Daily Mail reader - today!

Offend a Daily Mail reader – today!


In our miniscule existences upon this planet Earth

There’s precious few occurrences to occasion us true mirth

So listen up real loudly, those with brains and minds to spare

Who still hang on to plucking out true hope from thinnest air

Here’s the solution, if you’re open to such play

Just offend a Daily Mail reader today



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brainscancercardigansDaily Maildrinkingeyeballshatredhellhilarityholy grailJan MoirloveLucy MeadowsRichard Littlejohntolerancevomit

369 000


Here is a poem

for the others

who are born on mud floors

marshland and high plain

in homes of plastic and flattened tin

in spat-out estates in lands

whose time has gone

in the mewling sprawling cities 

of the south and east and rising world

who tumble down out of shanty towns

looking for work and hope and food

who doss down in shop doorways


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Beware the shadow by the corner dark,
For there he waits for seven reasons sour,
His wicked tongue hath limitless remark,
Whilst therein seeking whom he may devour.

Be sober and be vigilant thy kin,
Thy adversary waits beneath the pyre,
Then walks about as proud as the lion,
To drag thy wayward souls towards the fire.


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louise (repost)

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I want to dance like Louise LeCavalier


She flamed across stage

When I was fresh out from ballet

With the whisper of a spectre

Released from its chains

She took my breath up

In her pale hands

And threw it

Past the stars


In ever leap, twist, thrown and tumbled

She danced with the passion and

Power of a man in a feminine world


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Twilight Hours

Twilight Hours   And then she said “I love the twilight hours,”

When summer mists are burdening the air,

When blossom trees are stunned by hidden flowers,

And childhood bliss can banish every care.


I saw her mind as clearly as my own,

This woman both enigma and my wife,

Where in her joy and passion both atone,

Her clarity and wisdom fill my life.



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Also by Ian Gant:

GRATITUDE | SCRAPS | A July Evening |


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Lost in all that I do

alone even with 2

you tell me, it’s all just a question of rhyme .

So how come I never feel fine

always late no matter the time

fucked whatever the crime

So to sugar what little remains I

will gather my moods for a change

then prying the fall from a dream

to mute by way of a scream ask myself

why don’t I slip when it slides


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Also by Richard Alfred:

Friends |

The Complainant's Complaint

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(The complainnant's complaint, 

is a constant refrain-)

''woe is me- 

yes me- 

they're all to blame!

(points at them)

I'm squeezed in the middle 

(points at self)

by those with no name,

pity me 

-not them-

they're all to blame!''


(They read the Sun and The Daily mail- screaming)

''why don't they send 'em all off to jail?

give to me 


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Also by Tommy Carroll:

Tour de France- Versailles / Paris Champs-Élysées |


Do you dance the racism one-step?

It's a jig that some seem to learn -

Its steps go one-way...hip-hop-hep,

But somehow there's no room to turn.


I suppose it can seem quite appealing

To cavort to a one-step refrain, 

But stepping on toes without feeling

As you dance can only bring pain.


Give me the give and take two-step,

And the desire to dance to...

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Also by M.C. Newberry:






No matter

cold and darkness spill too early.

He is the sun,whose light and warmth

will unfix them.


There is serenity,in the love he exudes,

reassuredly blanketing.


And,there is serenity in the Moon,

that will inaudibly come,

meditatively framing itself,in my window,

ousting,intermittent considerations of an alas.



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( A praise poem - of sorts) 


I'll not forget the day we met

on the Piccadilly line

the memory lies grafted

embedded in my mind

I'd been working late at the office

commuting home alone

when you approached me with your mobile

and by that I don't mean phone


And I'd like to say you were beautiful

but in truth it was a shock

I never looked up f...

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Also by Isobel:

52 Hertz Competition Results | Voting for the 52 hertz comp |

humourPraise poetry

Footle Poems

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Mime Rhyme


Mime rhyme

In time




Up down





Some fun

In sun




A cute





A mouse

In house




A cat

Big rat




A moose

Is loose




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Also by Shirley Smothers:

So Very Alone | My Mother In Law, My Mon | Eyes in the Darkness | My Poetry |


More than 50

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I dont usaully do preamble however I must put this into context, its regarding Comments made in Spectator magazine in 2004 while Boris Johnson was editor.   The Article went out 'unsigned' which means nobody owned up to writing it.  However one of Boris's tean later on said that Boris had "a hand in it".


The Spectator claimed that "an excessive predilection for welfarism" had "created...

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Boris JohnsonFat twatHillsborough

5 Miles To Home

5 Miles to Home (written for the Milestone Society)

When I'm out walking and hiking free
A milestone is often a friend to me
They're solid reminders of where you are
And t’ next point of interest, they tell you how far

But I’ve noticed something when around I do roam -
That I've never seen one that says "5 miles to Home"
I've seen "5 miles to Bradford" and "Leeds - 5 mile"

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On wet afternoons

We pay to visit

The English castles

Grim towers of stone

Ditches of defence

Arrow slits above

Fortified gateways



Charities now care

For their maintenance

Count the children’s coins

Provide guided tours

Sell home-made chutney

We wonder around

Tugging Welsh forelocks

Before these ruins



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historyLiverpool PoetsWALES

You & Me

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There will never be another you and me,

All that is left is a fond and distant memory,

I try to reason why as tears run down my face,

My heart it aches as I contemplate our fall from grace,

The past caused us pain and the future disdain,

Whatever happened to here and now – I can’t explain,

We had a divine destiny and now it is a mystery,

There will never be another y...

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The Eleven-Plus

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Football over, mown grass,

heady scent. School photo,

earnest expressions

squinting into sun.

Yearning, inexplicable,

unspoken crush

on a blonde-haired girl

with snub nose and pudgy face.



Winners and losers.

Another girl, dark-haired,

stared moodily after me,

had I but known.

Dusty sang I Just Don’t Know

What To Do With Myself.


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My Dragon Husband

(I put this up again on request. It is some years since it went up before so I hope those who saw it before wont mind. )


My dragon husband

Lives on tobacco,

Consumes all the matches

And breathes smoke on me all night in bed.


My dragon husband

Has fire in his belly,

And roars at the radio.

Flames of his anger devour the television commentary.



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Lunch with A Banker

At the table in the corner of her office the dregs of Bordeaux cast

ruby glints through crystal glasses. Crisp strawberries glow wetly in

sugar snow; body-odoured brie melts on its marble slab. Nervously she

fiddles with her knife.  Glancing up to his  mocking eyes the offer of


dessert shrivels on her tongue. She moves to the sunny window and

peers down at the bus...

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Also by Cynthia Buell Thomas:

Message to Isobel |

Minions of mither

Daily basis of  going wrong possibilities are the heaviest fucking conglomerate of all and what a weight they are,that I am forcibly married to!
Reluctantly I esteem them subconsciously, operating defensive imaginations of them masked in bravado,or, of a readiness,salivating total surrender. The fall of my reassuring empire.
Oh misery! misery! perhaps I shoul...

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Pidgin poem about wondrous canal lock


canal-boat nudge

into hill

not budge



into tall slot

back-gate close


water spill

from top

slot fill



up and up



to top

front gate

boat stop


man shout

gate open

boat go out.



water down

boat up

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Also by Harry O`N eill:

(untitled) |

Apolide ~ (For Gregg)

On Carmel beach he saunters

where turquoise meets the border,

His arms outstretched

His upturned palms

Seek signals of a different order,

Eyes the milky horizon line

For signs of calmer water.


His sullen self numb

to the laughter of companions,

neither one thing, the other or either,

Frei nor Frum, Jew nor 'Goy,'


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Behind most winning men it's worth saying again

there's force driving them, it is true.

With such strength and resolve ambitions evolve

and support to see goals carried through.

It's then they possess stubborn drive to success

in the guidance, direction and tips;

you really are missing if you think just for kissing

is the purpose of those tender lips.

No, ...

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Half In Shadow (rewrite repost)

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Another rewrite of When A River Floods now called Half In Shadow

photo credit: Bill Cottman

 Half In Shadow 

Adamas had spent his career managing chaos. He traveled from the red clay South to the milkweed Midwest because Aquanetta invited him and his life in Birmingham Alabama was killing him. He was bored with public television and Birmingham, uninterested in grandchildren, tired of X-...

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Adamas and AquanettaBottomless SkyMy Love Has No TongueWhen A River Floods

The Text

You didn't tell me

When you opened your door

That one day you would slam it on my fingers

Trap my tail

Put on the red light

And sail into the sunset

Guns blazing with Mickey Bubble

Crying a river into his Dom Perignon

Popping your cork

Floating your boat

And dripping his caviar on the deck...




Like the texts I sent

That f...

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