Poetry Blog by Jemima Jones


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Do you remember

the old-fashioned coal scuttle

it's filled heaviness that made it so hard

to shake the right amount of cobs

into the fire grate

( some hissed if damp)

and the long iron pokers that went with it

that had to be retrieved from the eventual flames 

before the handle got too hot

and do you remember the times you screamed OUCH!

when forgetting to wrap a clot...

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Direction finder

Deserted again

as on too many previous occasions

but this time I won't come begging for your return

newfound freedom and I

have broken the old chains

been elsewhere exploring other possibilities.


Like a light that once illuminated my happier days

I will unmourning see you go out

your self dominating assurance kicked aside

by the boot of my determination



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What fills the spaces

in between life and death?

I call it times differently flavoured meats.

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in other words

When very crudely requested of me

to perform an oral sex act on him

I replied

'what a disgusting way to put it

couldn't you have asked me in a nicer way?


ok, I will said he


could you please place the the teeth gated exit

under the entrance to your nasal passage

around my urine disposing appendage


to which came my second reply


place your feeding ho...

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no entry

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I could try

with loves keys

to let myself into your heart

it could for me be like entering heaven

you could make the door disappear

once I was inside

but knowing you and your disinterest

it is more than likely

you would have changed the locks

before I even tried.

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Indelible stain

I could if I chose to 

be out there having fun with Dolphins and Whales


I could if I chose to

be on a slow boat to China to pick their faraway tea leaves


I could if I chose to

be collecting fallen stars to put in my pocket and save

them for a Perry Como type of rainy day.


I could do all these things

if only I wasn't being kept so busy

with my duty of



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when poetry is pushed in to becoming a pain

It seems to happen in the small hours

but only on odd occasions thankfully 

when I'm finally able to nod off

that reasonably good lines subjects titles

or other poetic ideas 

come floating across my mind

taunting whispering

go on then you baggy-eyed sod

get up and write me down

before I go for a walk into your forgetfulness!

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Along with being told

not to talk to

refuse sweets offered by

and never get into 

the big black cars of strangers

I was also taught to

count my blessings one by one ( what was that about?)

eat a peck of dirt before I died ( definitely!)

remember that every cloud has a silver lining ( even if it sopping wet)

I mustn't change my tune once I'm wed ( but he did Mum!)


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Recent Comments

Jemima Jones on Direction finder (3 hours ago)

LEON STOLGARD on Direction finder (13 hours ago)

Patricia and Stefan Wilde on Direction finder (15 hours ago)

Jemima Jones on sandwich (21 hours ago)

Patricia and Stefan Wilde on sandwich (1 day ago)

Rose Casserley on sandwich (1 day ago)

LEON STOLGARD on sandwich (2 days ago)

Jemima Jones on in other words (2 days ago)

Rose Casserley on in other words (3 days ago)

Patricia and Stefan Wilde on in other words (3 days ago)

Martin Elder on in other words (3 days ago)

LEON STOLGARD on in other words (4 days ago)

DESMOND CHILDS on in other words (4 days ago)

Pat Hughes on in other words (4 days ago)

Jemima Jones on in other words (4 days ago)


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