Poetry Blog by Rose Casserley

and they call this SPORT!

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in fearful flight

from the shooters hidden

in the nearby riverbank reeds

wiser ducks have flapped their way

into the safety of my garden.

 

Twelve I managed to count

before my mud packed face at the kitchen window

sent them scuttling away through a hedge gap.

 

But in the distance,I can still hear the killing sounds continuing

shooting away for all they are (not) w...

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snobby brother

always at family gathering's we used to love singing

about Bill Bailey who would never come home

or the unnamed somebody wanting to be shown the way home

because they were tired and wanted to go to bed.

 

And our frail old father sat there enjoying it all

a strong smile on his weather-beaten face in lieu

of those huge muscle's he used to carry mother up to bed with

singing ...

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my goodbye friend

I've googled up that rough-necked town

you ended up dying in

on the edges of a remote wilderness,

not unlike Dodge City  

but without the horses 

and probably only the odd good time gal for comfort.

 

Where the bracken surroundings veiled with dew-laden spider webs

and deathly silence waiting for a weak-kneed summer

you never lived to see.

 

No more shabby loneline...

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strange singer

although I haven't a name for the bird

possibly blown off course 

to its intended destination

now hidden in my garden hedge

probably trying hard to familiarize itself

with the chittering language of our homegrown species

I nevertheless have heard the most unusual most golden tones

it shares with them and my listening

that I can only describe

as being of such a soul-stirr...

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heartistically

from the soul's paintbox, 

the rainbow selections of spirituality

mixed on the palette

all mingle becoming one

the colour of everything beautiful

I will need to complete

the masterpiece of peace.  

 

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New Years dishonoured list

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we see them in all kinds of weather 

the usual pin money earning  male or female pensioner

staunchly holding the renowned sign mid road 

watching over noisy nippers most times

holding hands with absolute rocks

that families build their futures on

commonly known as grandparents.

 

The yellow coated award-worthy symbol of defiance against old age

the guardian angel of the ...

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one HELL of a mistake

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I know a hill.

I see it often

in my shamed memory

 

a bloodstained hill

where on high

at the top of a centre-piece cross

the mocking sign

INRI

Jesus of Nazareth the king of the Jews

 

the vision 

passed on by word of ancient mouths

visits my guilt on occasions

and reminds my soul

 

how very much

I must somehow go on trying

to kill that flower o...

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