Poetry Blog by Jon Stainsby

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Jon Stainsby on Fire (Wed, 18 Mar 2020 02:02 pm)

Jon Stainsby on Fire (Mon, 16 Mar 2020 08:42 am)

Jon Stainsby on Fire (Mon, 16 Mar 2020 08:40 am)

poemagraphic on Fire (Fri, 13 Mar 2020 05:28 pm)

jennifer Malden on Fire (Fri, 13 Mar 2020 04:50 pm)

Jon Stainsby on Fire (Fri, 13 Mar 2020 03:05 pm)

keith jeffries on Fire (Fri, 13 Mar 2020 12:45 pm)

Jon Stainsby on Thinking of you, mum (Fri, 13 Mar 2020 10:58 am)

Jon Stainsby on Thinking of you, mum (Fri, 13 Mar 2020 10:57 am)

Tom on Thinking of you, mum (Wed, 11 Mar 2020 10:57 am)


The smoke smothers,

forms a solid screen.

The fire frantically fights

for its existence,

twisting and torturing

the air around it

like a dictator leaving

nothing to chance.

The flames writhing,

and rising in their

hot blazing dance.

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Thinking of you, mum

I watched an episode

of some tv show the other day,

an old lady passed away

while people looked on.

It reminded me

of the day you died,

not so old,

you were still so young,

too young to die,

too soon to leave us,

and I remember

being by your side

watching your body

makes its final fragile moves,

your breath was weak,

and the weakness won.

I cried, an...

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Myopic Hordes

The cracked ice was a sign,

an unnoticed warning

of the dangers ahead

but no one heeded it,

ignored it and

were blindly fed

by the cyclops' hand.

Nobody saw the distance

as so great and

the myopic vision

you foretold

was gathered unseen

by the hordes

running wildly

to their demise.

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You are

A heavenly body are you

with your silken wings

and your golden hair.


A steady ship are you

with your strong bow

and your billowing sail.


A strong tree are you

with your skyward stare

and your deep rooted tail.


A beautiful creature are you

with your celestial smile

and your gossamer veil.


An ephemeral star are you

with your breathless frail...

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The flags fold in on themselves

and the nations give way to earth,

boundaries disappear as quickly

as they bureaucratically appeared,

and the land remains the same,

and the people do not alter.

The flesh and bones are unchanged,

to no-one else are we tethered,

a murderous group are we all,

killing our own, for what gain?

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Death of cruelty

The cruelty of the world

has defeated me once more

but the war still continues

this battle only evens the score.


Prevailing winds at my back

will assist in retreat

but the return will be stronger

with my swift wingèd feet.


Those craggy rocks of hate

split and break off overhead

but my quick agile mind

will render them dead.


Too late to hesitate


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