Poetry Blog by Celia (time)

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Celia on Mild depression (Tue, 20 Oct 2020 10:50 am)

John Coopey on Mild depression (Mon, 19 Oct 2020 08:43 pm)

Don Matthews on Poems are not for happy days (Tue, 14 Apr 2020 11:57 pm)

Liam Osaneo on Poems are not for happy days (Tue, 14 Apr 2020 10:31 pm)

Celia on Bird poem n.3 (Tue, 8 May 2018 02:39 pm)

Wood on Bird poem n.3 (Tue, 8 May 2018 02:42 am)

Celia on lovesick (Sun, 25 Dec 2016 02:08 pm)

Jeff on lovesick (Sun, 25 Dec 2016 06:09 am)

Celia on erotic agape (Fri, 25 Nov 2016 11:42 pm)

Dave Morgan on erotic agape (Mon, 21 Nov 2016 06:40 pm)

On my way

Excuse me sir, how long

till Central Station?


Thirty. Five. Minutes. 

Thirty five. Another hour

Or day springs open abyss

Before me, that is, before us

Before I can rest my hand on your shoulder


And pretend not to expect you there

Or you me.

These minutes are unlike any other

Minute I’ve known on earth

They are viscous, solid,


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Eroticexpectationpublic transporttime


And now I must recover myself

Left, after centuries of fearful neglect

Washed up to dry on a sunless beach.


And now I must plait my hair

Dull, after nights of washing in grease

The guilty searches for lost affection.


And now I must return home,

Home, where I’ve never been

And sit a while and say sorry, I’m sorry, to me.

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