Poetry Blogs (Sep 2013)

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My Gazinta

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I bought a pack of 2 cheesecakes yesterday.  When I got them home I realised just what a triumph of marketing over product they were.

Each of the tubs sat on a transparent plinth inside the cardboard packaging giving the impression they were 50% bigger than they really were.

Rather than feel aggrieved though, I started to give some thought as to how I might adapt the idea, making my gaz...

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Also by John Coopey:

Daily Mail | Cottage Sleaze | Hugging Candles | The Masterly Strategy of Inactivity (Not In My Name) | I'm The Urbane Statesman |


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50,000 faces lined the streets
From Deansgate to Whitworth Park.
50,000 socialist workers,
And disabled all lined the streets.
50,000 marching the save the NHS
Protest against the bedroom tax
And cuts in everything
From trees to jobs.
50,000 people protesting against
Having to community work everyday

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Poetry Competition - £120 - £60 - £25 etc

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Wirral Ode Show - Poet of the Year


More details can be found below




@ Gallaghers Pub and Barbers

20 Chester Street



CH41 5DQ


4 minutes to read/perform your poetry

Independent judges - All Poets Welcome


One of the longest running poetry competit...

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Also by Chris Co:

ThePoetry Spoke on Facebook | ThePoetry Spoke September 19th - Poetry Night & Guest |

Trash Overhead

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Trash Overhead 

I live in the desert on my own little farm near the damn secret airbase where they do their testing.                                                                                                      

My grandpa saw your nuclear tests in the 50s shook our walls and gave him cancer.                                                                                         ...

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Zeus | Mind Men | Italia | Silence and Beauty | EDGE 2 | Dead Man |

air force lifealienscrasheventsfarm landsecretsufos

My Old Soul

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My old soul has sung before.
It has lain many hands in mine;
I reach for yours, and link it to he
who needs. He stands in Bergen-
Belsen in the rain, waiting his turn
to expire. He takes hands he cannot
save and sighs and breathes
the gas. He is a petal;
I see inside his heart. I love you as
he and they who follow down
the stairs. My hand takes yours and hers
and his. Be careful of their souls, they
are li...

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Poem for a Barmaid

(Somewhat tongue in cheek but here we go . . .)


You’re not expecting the thunderbolt to hit

Then when it does it hits you like a brick

One minute innocent and unmoved

The next incensed with passion and feeling bemused


Lovely face and beautiful eyes

The curve of your body is no surprise

Your smile affects me so, I’m feeling weak

And like a fool I can h...

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Also by Steve:

The Cat that lived Across the Road | Disco Nights | Some Love | When the Holiday is Over | Poem For A Friend |

girlgirl crushlove

last thoughts

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slowly decaying from the inside out..
sleep shall come to me that I have no doubt about, the ticking of the clock as it drowns out the noise of my slowing beating heart. It entwines it's self to a memory of what was my life a distant spell upon the horizon where the shallow graves of misspent souls linger in the shadows of the moon light sky, where the magpie birds captures it's prize, where the...

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Also by Anna Grinter:

A Lovers Mirage | visions of beauty | A poets words | forever more | for you shine like the sun |

Not wanting to find us anymore

​Broken pieces of love and chaotic imagery clutter the bed. We sit back to back on opposite sides contemplating the darkness and the voice of the rain on the window it actually sounds better than anything your tired old clouds have to offer. Silence settles everything. Tomorrow I shall retrace the route that brought me here.

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Damsons at Bilberry Hall SE 077 219

Damsons at Bilberry Hall  SE 077 219

Blue velvet drupes with a white dusty bloom hang from scrubby hedge shrub

Germinating from a discarded stone years ago finding a favourable niche

Growing in the Quickthorn marking the edge of cleared moorland along the stony track

Some early ripened have become windfalls eaten by birds and insects on the dusty ground

Dry crazed stones add...

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Also by Graham Ramsden:

Walking in the snow |

Night time colours.

On a hot night when sleep is full of sluts and the train is heading towards Paris I sit in a bathtub and bathe my hands so I can write heavy words with soft palms. Standing and yielding with my head high I was gentle in my strength listening to blues guitar. One more time in the bathtub with a beautiful lady who tells me sweet words that mean nothing so don't ask. She's bad for you my mother sa...

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Across the water’s face

They skim their webby feet

And we the populous

Bog-eyed with bated breath


No guns or angry words

But whirring wings

Then silently and in a trice

The simultaneous descent


It happens in a flash

The skidding stop

Tail wagging ailerons

Half white part dun set down


And we the ci...

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Also by Philipos:


It's Autumn Again

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As summer bids a tender farewell, once again this time
Autumn unveils with beautiful chromatic colors in line
Golden leaves fall gracefully in grief from heaven to earth
Covering the shivering earth with a blanket of crimson leaves

Leaves fall, as if they were never meant for withering trees
But to break free and sail in the silent autumn breeze
The music of the falling leaves in autumn...

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nature Autumn

Goals in Perspective

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When it’s going wrong

It’s him against ten

A boy can have the boots

Of a twenty year old

Can have the same boots

Since he was twelve

A young boy can only reach so far

Can only be seen to be trying


When it’s going good

He has nothing to do

Swinging from the bar

Excited and animated

Trumpeting breath

A young man

Awaiting a whistle of r...

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Also by CathyLCrabb:

The Prime of Life |



He says he wants to travel
To hunt and be a rebel
Climb  mountains,  feel the struggle 
Explore another level
But for her it is all clear 
He would be her only dear
She is broken, lives in fear
But lets him go to hunt for deer
Take your time and travel slow
Enjoy your freedom, you can go
I will stay and make us grow
Hold us war...

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Unsure, Unopposed

lying in my arms

fleeting captivity

of bittersweet blossom

transient beauty as it falls

melting into the ground

and you’re gone


© Katypoetess 2013



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Also by Katy Megan Hughes:

Ouroborus | The Best |

lovelove poemlove poetry

The Makings of Kings and Pawns

The Makings of Kings and Pawns



     Would you like to play a game?

The computer asked through sterile blips

In the soft tones of a lure,

     I thought of tic tac toe

And Wargames but then,

I figured,

Do I really want to be

Placed belligerently without

Care or warning

Within the new Bauhaus,

     ‘Games’ are not what I’m about’

I repli...

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Also by Noetic-fret!:

Cut! | Headlong |

On Sandal's Field Of Ghosts

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On Sandal’s Field Of Ghosts.


Mist hangs over fields -

ahead, the castle looms where

died the Duke Of York.


At the willows three

a chill permeates the air

and touches nerve ends.


Here fell the Yorkist

hope – body mutilated

and dragged through the mud.



His head sent on to York to

top a traitors spike.



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Also by Ian Whiteley:

dust | Cycle Of The Scarecrow | A Scarecrow Dreams Of Leaving | Damocles | stroke |

battle of wakefield 1460deathduke of yorkghostshaikusandal castle


Rain, beautiful, cooling
so  pacifying,  relentless.
Crowded  green trees dripping
tears  and  dew-drops,
spattering  in  shiny  puddles
around  bricks,  sticks  and
bits  of  floating  paper.
Amphibians  blink.
The  gnome  carelessly  throws  a  cast
hoping  a  tadpole - for - tea   passes  by.
Red  hat  in  the  downpour  shining.
Bending,  sharp  leaves, dripping,

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Warm memories of a long time ago

The street scene resembling a tableau

Whiter than white silent night glow

Temperature must be 10 below

Sloshing through the Arctic floe

The road salt is running low

Sliding down the street like it's Skid Row

As I walk in dog shit

Past the bloodstains in the snow


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RNCM Canteen

In the citadel
sounds clamber over each other,
scrambling against walls.
Silent instruments in shaped coffins,
rattle the dark, pall bared
by those who will resurrect them.

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Also by Neil Fawcett:

Pub Singer | Cliff |

Lines of support for Anne Feradi

 (From the ninety thousand member

(year of 2012) Celestial Abortees

Feminist  Society)


Dear Anne,


So, certain girlie-sprigs were sorted,

Selected, gendered and aborted

Sorted from mothers and next of kin

On the ground of being feminine?


Bravo! we here are all supporting

Selecting females for aborting.

You ...

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We are wronged by people daily,
but to not forgive is unconscionable.
The Universal King had died for all;
for in eternity's view, we're pardonable.

He has given absolute amnesty
to everyone who has accepted Him.
Make no mistake about this unmerited immunity -
Grace's favor (over the course of Life) wears thin.

Death is inevitable, and our spirits
this mortal fram...

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Also by Joseph J. Breunig 3rd:

September 11, 2001 | Visionless? | Danger of Zealous Fervor | Eternity | A Sinner Like Me | His Blessings | My Proverbs 31 Wife | Spiritual Irony | For Upon My Head, Nothing Gold Can Stay | Enjoy This Season |

breunigchristian poetryfaithForgivenesspoetry

The Mousetrap

My cupped hands warm

and still the shake

of heavy breasts


that bear the weight

of all the sex

that we’ve performed.


I make a guess,

that with encores,

the tally breaks


three thousand -  four!

We’ll overtake

The Mousetrap yet


you darken red

and say there’s more.

I understate


your current score.




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Soliloquy of the damned.

Soliloquy of the damned.
Is it not, such a bitter sweet paradox that it is only in our deepest moments of despair
that the seeds of compassion already inherent in our souls gain the propensity to germinate. Then in our healing permitted to flower.
Would it be the case that without rebuilding we could be whole or must we first be broken to be completed.  Are we left searc...

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Also by Ged Thompson/ A Liverpool Poet:

Waiting for the duster. |

Catching my Breath

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Why does my hurt come of late
from others who never stop
to think that their acts come from their own self-hate.

Cover-ups and broken promises,
continue to make my life a living hell.

The heat so hot,
with no shade in sight.

Worse off is the mirage
I see the in the distance
of people posing to care.
Saying words that only desperate fools
like me want to hear.

Please, God...

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Though I'm not a Shropshire lad

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When every lad and every lass
that ever shared my bed
must find beneath the graveyard grass
a place to lay their head,
beneath their sheets, bereft of breath,
then shall I shed a tear
and sketch a stanza on their death
and drink another beer.


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Also by Marnanel Thurman:

tealice |

ImproviXation #107

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ImproviXation #107 

Some days I wish I could bend my knees

Lean backwards and wail like a saxophonist

But I know anyone within earshot

Would hear that wrong

There are days

I feel like screaming

But I don’t dare

I’m afraid of what the

Vibrations might cause

On days like that I like to clamp on headphones

Crank up volume on John Coltrane

Archie Shepp


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AylerCarterColtraneEmel SherzadImproviXing ChangeMarsalisMurraysaxophonesSheppwailing

Are you running from love?


Are you running from love,

Are you scared of changes?

Anyways they will come -

And will bring their charges...

There is no sense in hiding

from discomfort or pain,

you aspire for growing

so be ready, face them.

They are needed as shampoo

to purify us of waste

and to make us much stronger

to fulfill our fate.

Your life is so beautiful,


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Also by Irina Sunrise:

Be merciful to me, my Friend | “And I heard the voice of harpers harping with their harps” | Dream | Caprice | Sky | the time is now | thoughts, tears of mind | The beauty of the world | so cruel when in love | resentment | Ocean in my eyes | And then magic starts |

are you running from love

A Lone Tree Survives

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A lone tree survives

In Man's greed to make money

Is our own downfall

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Also by Shirley Smothers:

Alliteration Poem About Anger |



Like the internet;
the pre-disposed characters
of life and love  - coloured with
asterisks, italics;
pressed flowers of lies;
the fingertip and the keyboard,
untying, tying bootlaces to trip over;
there is nothing really known.
Try to forget the sun;
the mortal warmth,
and your figurative too –
everyone disappears;
authority or not, th...

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Also by Marianne Daniels:

Punk | Tetris |

From Beyond a Dream

The ballet dancers swim outside my doors,
And pluck at scarlet fruits behind my eyes;
They pirouette in seven’s, eight’s and nine’s
Then drown in reddened lakes in twenty-four’s.
Their sodden tutu’s, drink them up through straws
And on their bloated bodies, here, do dine -
They make the most delicious cherry wine
So do not think their death was without cause!

Then from their shelled remains,...

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Also by Simon Austin:

In Limbo | September Sisters | She, Mourning |


A Cold Filthy Metropolis

From Plush Green Fields and abundant forests

To sleepy hamlets and hazy meadows

Sprouted monsters in the sky to smoke and choke

Factories of the Industrial age to dictate and invoke


Soon villages became towns, and towns became cities

Communities swallowed up, the ruling classes showing no pity

Slumlords charged extortionate rent

Working class relied on charity ...

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Industrial Revolutionwage slaveryworking class

Speeding on through Somewhereshire

Unfamiliar livery

Adorns familiar trains

Myriad trees, multi-shaped

Silent window frames

Station signs unreadable

A metal phonetic blur

Speeding on through Somewhereshire

On a train to who knows where


TK Maxx and Staples

Retail worship shrines

Ears burst in tunnels

As beneath the soil we dive

Conservatories and patios

Buzzing power lines

Tearing on th...

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Also by Marksy:

Please keep on the grass | My Automare |

rappersretailsalesshopstagstrain journeystrainstravellingtrees


The following story was related to me by a poet, in the autumn of the year 2013.  The poet had retired to bed after partaking of herbal tea and cigarettes, from the effects of which she fell asleep, just as she was contemplating the opening lines from Kubla Khan.


The poet remained in a deep sleep until awoken by the radio alarm clock, at which point she began to experience the most vi...

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"Lances, shields and armour plate?

They're long since out of stock.

The ancient art of jousting, mate -

It's taken a bit of a knock."




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Also by Gareth Glyn Roberts:

Hygiene hats |

Creative Input Required

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David Farrow is looking for Writers, Poets, Illustrators and artists (especially those who work with children but not exclusively) who would like to participate in some voluntary work.  This starts with going along to a brainstorming session to try and come up with a creative, alternative and enagaging theme to help with David's writing project.

The project is being set up based on this:

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Also by Stockport WoL:

Stockport WOL Prompt 9/9/13 | September Collage Poem - The Sun |


Godfrey Bloom

Too quick to quip

To a waiting room

Upset UKIP


But much worse -

And infinitely seedier,

Is the "outraged" curse

Of a modern media.


Manipulating words like 'sluts'

Removing proper context,

Minus any 'ifs' and 'buts'...

Who knows whatever's on next? 


You cannot hope

To bribe or twist - (they say!)

The British ...

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Also by M.C. Newberry:


Waiting at the windowsil (unfinished)

Waiting at the windowsill


It’s that Friday tomorrow,

The day I wait two weeks for 

Do you think he thinks when he 

Picks up that drink.

Waiting in the park sitting on a swing,

Taking in the breeze

Watching the trees as they

Move ; even sing .

Will he come today ? I do all but pray ,

Praying will not help when 

Your cards are dealt.

Have you ...

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Interest Only


all square within the confines
of the cask conditioned discothèque
from without my fitful anti-sleep
came the wasps 
and creeping hands 
that spidered across the ceiling and floor
unsure of the etiquette for trembling
yet, for three pages, I was
in the clear, gone, beyond the provincial
boots of leaden grit, though by the fourth
the int...

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Also by Paul Sands:

Mutuality | written in the dirt | shelter '76 |


It's different

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It's Thursday morning in Asylum Link.

The English class has a visitor,

Community policeman Phil.

Kindly, friendly Phil.

His honest face has our attention.

He smiles, they smile, we all smile.

Roads – safety – cars – safety -

licences and rules – safety – bikes – safety.

How to be safe, in a nice warm voice

in a nice, warm country.

Good old Phil.


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Also by Dave Bradley:

Keats |

Liverpool Tate

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''This machine kills fascists'' ...

''this is not a pipe'' ...

''Policeman accused of 'inappropriate' treatment of Whitney Houston's corpse''...

which, if any, are considered Art? 


A repost:


The gallery

Someone left luggage
in a pile on the floor,

I lifted it up
to a hook by the door.

A crowd had then gathered,
and to my lasting surprise
the jurors al...

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I am performing the BIRMINGHAM TOWN HALL on Saturday 21st September 2013 at the following times:





At the POETS CORNER- Come and find what I am about

check out:http://blackexposurelive.co.uk/marcia-calame/

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Also by Marcia Calame:

The Comedy Variety Showcase |

Would They Have Listened, Then?


Words fall cheap to unhearing ears. Some, if not most books, digital and broadcast media will disappear into the future without a receptive audience. Sad.
Would they have listened, then?
Would  they have listened, then?
when his voice gone cold   
His words a faded digital imprint.
Without the aid of compassion or curiosity  

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Don't Give Away Your Loved Ones!

No need to give away the loved ones,
Those who are near you or far away,
And those who are almost invisible,
But very often so dear and desirable,
They come into your life as the sun ray.

When all is good and in the brightness,
Your life is burning like a fire.
Why do you worry about happiness?!
If all comes true and do not tire!

But when the evil of caustic words,
The soul sometimes hurts and cry,

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loved ones


Tunnelling in the dirt below my feet
I've been digging here all week
carving this hollow so deep
today, I hit bone

This is heavier work than I imagined
surveyed the ground from beyond the fence
And we both agreed that this was right
but now the toil is breaking me apart

As a new day rises
I'm bawling in the shower
never knew I could feel this pain
with the taps turned up to ten
never knew this hurt was in me


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break updepressionlowmoving onsadness

Empty century

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Stay with me boy we gonna

run tonight

like flies do run

burning after touching the light bulb


stay with me, 'cause  it's an empty and sad little century

i might have tears in my eyes

but i don't wanna see

just don't want to see


Right on time

pain arrived

why would we

stroll apart?


Walk with me now we never

had any time


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What do you eat?


What do you eat?
I eat carrots, I Eat turnips, cauliflower, lettuce leaves
I eat sweetcorn, I eat parsnips, I eat sprouts and I eat peas
I eat mange tout, three, four, five, six and seven
Throw in four tomatoes and that makes eleven
I eat apples and bananas, grapes and pears
Seeds in seedless tangerines make me bloody swear
I eat gooseberries and ra...

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Veggie food eat

Independence Day

Here we go -

Dredging her room and netting the hairdryer, straightners, bulging cases of clothes and IT, dismantling the computer desk, loading buckets and bleach

To squeeze the car skyscraper high

And driving through screwdriver rain

The length of England.

Scrubbed and kitted

The past, present and future  knitted with cuddly toy and pillowed dreams,

The bed now empt...

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Turning Over Tables

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(Poem dedicated to the Liverpool Tate art gallery which has chosen to buy and display this piece of abusive exploitative art)



Sometimes I wonder if I'm wearing the right glasses

wrong glasses

wrong lens

or  wrong vision?


All around me

people see things

differently -






the unfo...

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abuseexploitationintellectualised art gone wrongloss of humanity

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