Poetry Blog by Joseph Kennedy

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Laura Taylor on Classics on repeat (Mon, 16 Jan 2012 12:56 pm)

Ann Foxglove on Classics on repeat (Sat, 14 Jan 2012 07:22 am)

on Lungs (Wed, 4 Jan 2012 05:33 pm)

on Lungs (Wed, 4 Jan 2012 01:55 pm)

Laura Taylor on Lungs (Wed, 4 Jan 2012 01:52 pm)

Rachel Bond on One more chances (Thu, 29 Dec 2011 11:37 pm)

M.C. Newberry on She is (Wed, 28 Dec 2011 04:24 pm)

Andy N on She is (Tue, 27 Dec 2011 10:21 am)

on Sicknote (Thu, 10 Mar 2011 08:52 pm)

Ann Foxglove on Sicknote (Thu, 10 Mar 2011 08:08 pm)

Classics on repeat

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The eccentric dances gaily to classics,

Loose-fitted kimono sways to the rhythm,

For a man so happy it’s awfully tragic,

Left by his wife and adoring children.

The eccentric sips gaily on a cocktail,

Down-feather earrings bow with his head,

His ignorant wife will open a voicemail,

To find the cuckold will later be dead.


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Fool in love

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I don’t just want to fall in love,

I want to skydive from 3000ft into a huge lake of love,

I want to walk off a cliff and into a canyon of love,

I want to trip into the Volcano and the lava, of love.

Because falling in love shouldn’t be as easy,

As me kissing you, and you kissing me.

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canyonfall in lovekissinglakeloveskydivevolcano


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I have a special pen,

It always writes in black,

I thank it when I’m finished,

And it always thanks me back.

I have a special pen,

It lives on my lined paper,

I keep it along the right lines,

And It always returns the favour.

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Love-letters for me are the peak of old-school romance,

If a female is a nutty hoe, there is certainly no chance,

She will ever receive my super impressive word-smith letters,

But one so stunning and so feisty would get enough to fill a library.

She makes me want to wear a trouser suit, slick my hair,

Look like Ryan Gosling, but she’s superior to Rachel McAdams.


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cassettegentlemanladylove letternotebookproperromancesmitten

She spoke words of nonsense and he nodded accordingly

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Stubborn as he was,

And was he stubborn? Yes.

He didn’t want to pull his

                                                claws in.

Though he knew it for the best.

He picked a poppy,

                              Stole a rose,

And ran laughing all the way home,


       wee wee,


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forgivenesslieslovenot listening

I love to hate your guts

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To dare is to do,                              I don’t do dares,

So I dare you to,                             Give me a truth,

Whisper to me,                                Honestly, truthfully,

‘I love you’.                                     I don’t love you.

Beauty is,                                        I’ve no beauty,

As beauty does,                          ...

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break uphatenot lovesad

Seventh day blues

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Tired of Sunday’s parades,

            the rebel child slept;

He hated Monday,

Slept right through,

         Hated Tuesday,

         Slept through that too.

                 The rebel child would not wake,

                        On Wednesday nor on Saturday.

But he awoke on Sunday morn,

Wishing he had not been born.

He muted himself, for he would n...

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As for me, all I know is that I know nothing

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This poem is a collaboration between myself and another poet, J.R.Morgan. You can find her work here. www.J-r-morgan.tumblr.com

Bold is myself, Italics is Morgan.


Bland winds hold her hand

as they lead her through the scent of lilac promises

exhaled from decomposed breath.

They carry her down to the riverbank

where Zephyrus winds churn the

tides to the ri...

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Before the forestfire started,

We peeled back bananaskins,

And gazed from a clearing,

In the woodland.

Before the forestfire started,

We whistled in response,

To fleets of birds,

In the treetops.

After the fire,

We walked on embers,

And cleaned the ashes,

In the toxic river.

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No-one understood his love for smoking,

The man swore on his life, with his life,

That he would never quit his ‘hobby’.

When asked ‘why do you love it?’

He explained that he was manipulating,

The smoke, as he blew out rings.

The man expressed a knowledge for

Cancer, but said he would take his chances,

Because smoking made him feel powerful.

In the autop...

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I dismantled my bed,

Couldn’t sleep on the lies,

The springs cut my honest back,

You can sleep on the floor, you utter whore.

You made me out to be a twat,

You, you, you, fucking you,

What about me ay?

I have to sleep here.

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One more chances

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Endless relentless tormenting arguments,

Shut that slut mouth love,

Abusive corrosive explosive darling,

Music to my hairy ears.

Downed the stella quick flash,

Backhand backlash reflex,

                    Not right,

I forgive, daily.

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aloneno more second chancessadnesssingle


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Our story has been told.

Your heart is a black hole,

                    It’s ice cold,

                      It’s so old,

  Please, break the mould.

I loved you then but now,

Now no way,

Never again,

You were the first love,

Now I really need a second.

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She is

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When I look at the sky,

Is she looking too.

When I weep alone,

Is she weeping too.

She grows in beauty every day,

But I am growing too.

She grows in my heart every day,

I miss you.

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This chilling loathe I bear,

I’d cut him up and boil him,

And hang his bones in my lair,

Then fuck his whore mother.

This despicable boy I hate,

I would take his eyes with spoons,

And serve them on a plate,

For one lucky homeless man.

Oh, let me count the ways,

In which I hate thee,

One, two, three,

Infinity, Infinity.

You are my mortal enem...

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bad personenemyhatehatredviolence.


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I hear the clouds form into a foul storm,

Outdoors soaking into an endless Ocean,

I’m smoking as the blessed showers pour,

There will be no stepping out the door,

Forever more, dryer than ever before.

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Jesus was a carpenter

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Sand the mahogany properly,

Into a masterful bannister,

Craft the staircase gracefully,

The supremacist of the premises.

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carpentergracefulpride in work.staircasewood

Hour snow

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Blanc flakes nestle honestly outside,

Crisp winds slap almost lovingly,

Heavenly scenery melting suddenly,

All is as it was once before.

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The exaggerated bosom,

For a girl her height,

Is overly noticable,

Upon first sight.

She makes eye contact,

And you tingle all over,

That’s how I felt,

I was her lover.

I await the day she returns,

I will wait forever.

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It's the most wonderful time of the year

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The sickening glistening lights,

Of winter and christmas time,

Shove a stick in my eye,

And sing carols as I take my life.

Christmas is over and I’m the loner,

Sitting home alone drinking corona,

Streets are silent like my mobile phone,

Put my face to the pillow as I go prone.

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Fade to grey

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Writers never die,

The blue black,

Ink of their lives,

Lives on.

Past the fire,

Water damage,

Sunlight exposure,

They live on.

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The poster and the peanut


Stood bedazzled in the museum bathroom was Peter Pickle, a fine art appreciater from Leicestershire, a short, scrawny, spectacled gent, with 5 o'clock shadow and an above average sized nose. He wasn't particularly bad looking, though at this very moment he looked quite bizarre, stood at the urinal, one hand flailing the last few droplets from his member, the other moving his glasses back ...

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fascinationnarrationnew yorkseizure

The honest prayer

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He will never rise,
only blind leading the blind,
with blind faith eyes,
blindly praying lifelong lies.
The wasted prayers, tears
pages out of the holy book.
The people gather in mass,
for mass, reciting paragraphs
that, hold no substance,
only bloodshed and disappointment.

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blind faithfaithgodprayerreligion


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The harking of my illness throat,

Another hole, A sunken boat,

You cannot cure the lamb from slaughter,

So keep it’s head held underwater.

The sniffing comes with such a bug,

Cut it down, the trees are blood,

You cannot clear this woodland path,

Not at all, not even half.

The guilt arrives and joins the others,

Sniffing and Harking, pain-crossed lovers,


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Finally seeing

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I worked into exhaustion,

Then I finally saw,

I was born to write,

And so walked out the door.

I fell in love,

With a perfect female,

But I boarded a train,

And so we derailed.

I finally see it,

My stupid brain,

Knows what it wants,

And takes it away.

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Broken heartExhaustionMoving forward

On one knee

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I dub thee the anti-healer,

The short-changer,

The dodgy-dealer,

The pestering salesman.

Back to a packed crowd,

Cutlass lands on your shoulder,

Artful dodger and proud,

Another elderly woman conned.

The tale of a crook,

Who somehow got knighthood,

With royals he shook, hands

He took wedding bands.



I'd like to e...

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Scheming with demons,

Searching for the spirit,

Darkness is the body,

The soul is infinite.

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life after deathsoul


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Scheming with demons,

Searching for the spirit,

Darkness is the body,

The soul is infinite.

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life after deathsoul

To my sweetest

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I can give you forever,

God show me a sign,

That we are meant to be together,

We are meant to be divine.

Love you sincerely,

And through our lifetime.

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I feared I was the burning bush, 

Yet I was not consumed,

I cried for a season, all of winter,

But now I am approved.

Pour the wine, and we shall feast,

Landlocked, in the land of east,

Once I ever saw the sea,

The waves are calling me.

I dwell on top, of a middle-class hill,

The pre-adult grand old duke of present,

I live here, not against my will,


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decisionsfearfuturemy life


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Uncertainty is a burden,

Indecision is a hindrance,

Tell me all my options,

Fuck me with your influence.


I woke up late for life again,

I know what I want,

The easy way in,

The games have since began.


Will my life culminate besides,

Horchata or pinstripe suits and ties.

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Progressive paralysis

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The smite of real life

Crashing from the skies.

I became paralyzed,

Unable to progress.


I begged for the heaven sent,

One linguistic instrument.


The vibrant mind

Will not find time

To absorb line after line.


Exams are just observing me,

Seventeen and in nursery!

Unwelcome at university.

Judgement day arrives.


And then b...

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This Britain, this Earth,

For everything it’s worth,

Is nothing without the things,

That begin with F.

Fucking, Fighting,

Family, Freedom,

This planet, this glorious United Kingdom,

Is about to experience a Conservative demolition.

Fucking Tories, I must fight!

For my family, for my freedom,

Sixty-five percent of us, say,

Fuck off back to Eton.

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Broken treasure chest

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At the back of the closet,

Right in the corner,

He kept all the treasures,

Of love’s great importance.

The chest was really, merely a box,

Covered in dust, a three-digit lock,

He sat there in silence, fourth of December,

412, glad he remembered.

The first thing he noticed, after the hinges creaked,

Made him drop to his knees, admiring her physique,


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Dishonest Nostalgia

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It was a picturesque scene,

An army of tree's, stood to attention.

Hands holding, we marched,

Without intervention.

My feet crunched leaves,

Rotten wood, sticks, anything that happened to be in my way.

She was more delicate, careful not to disturb,

The inhabitants of this habitat, Bless her.

This utopic place I found, impressed her

I honestly wish this story ...

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The bay window

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I haven’t seen her in a month of sundays,

Her fragrance always left me wanting more,

Upstairs by the window, adored,

The second sunday of the month.

I was sure she was an act of god,

The bad type, uncontrollable,

When she left, I was inconsolable,

The last Sunday of the month.

I sat by the same window,

Dreaming of her company,

Hungering for her love...

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Broken heartsDesertionLoveSunday


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Ambiance broken,

Foreign words spoken,

In the town I sit alone,

Tranquility remains at home.

I can barely distinguish my thoughts,

Between the shouting, laughing,

Blasphemy and snorts.

In the town I search for silence,

In the library a baby is crying,

Is it such a great request,

For silence soothes my brain to rest.

In the town I wish for the countrys...

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Facade of broken smiles

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This isn’t happiness,

This is a set of lips, 

Curling at the corners,

Retired from being kissed,

This is a facade,

The back arched,

Leaning in to whisper,

I’m destroyed by culture.

This is emptiness,

Vacancy forming dust,

This isn’t happiness,

It never was.

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Broken heartsCultureFacadeHappinessLoveLove lost


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Collections of tree’s, nettle’s,

Thorn bushes to scrape shins,

Exist in the countryside, between

Land owned, like the divide of Berlin.

Acre’s that are touched by agriculture,

But rarely by man, in the past,

Where a playground, for bloodsport,

Destroy the objective.

Hounds trail the troops,

Leading the horses from the front,

I sympathize a Fox persp...

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Fox Hunting Nature

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