You are the tree that grew inside me
when I swallowed your stone whole.

When I spoon-fed you with silvern words
you rooted in my deep.

Each morning I’m reborn by you
polishing the dawn till it blossoms in pink.

Exchanging moss coated whispers
our rain softened glances trickle between us.

I am grafted to the notches on your spine.
Spiralling together, we reach for the light.


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The room brimmed
with her pale heat
lapping through my winter.

Dare I touch this dance
and stuff my pockets full of hope?

Parcel my fears
in wax paper and twine
and wait for them to unravel.


Pic - Cormorant Drying Wings. by Geoffrey Bickley. Sculpture: wood


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love poems


He digs and drills so deep

that foundations may well crumble


Bottles himself away in lonely

lines of ribbed blue glass

upon some lop-sided shelf


The handwritten label, applied

and slid square with the rest of the world


The contents sealed in

wax from the neck down to do their time


Do not operate the machinery

Please comply with dos...

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mental health


I will

Form into an black shell

Slime on the window.

Curl an ending

in an air trap


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Never -



    Back down

        Say die


                Never land          

                    Say never

Walk alone

    Give up hope

         In a month of Sundays

            Do that again

                Press the red button

                    Mind the buzzcocks

Say never again

    Let me go


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The Magician Cat

The magician cat.

Folds it front feet underneath

where they disappear

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Cat comp

Review - Das Auge Im Eis, neogallery32 Bolton

Steve Garside is an artist, designer, published poet, photographer and filmmaker from Rochdale, Lancashire, England. He studied social sciences at the University of Manchester, England.


Das Auge I'm Eis came about as a result of an invite to be guest photographer at the Ludwig Maximillan University in Munich. The combination of Dachau being in close proximity to Munich, an introductio...

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rott  ing

birch es


like  to

bacc o


summ er

fall    ing


green now

yell      ow


so man

y  oaks


so  few

a corns


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The Dark Cheeks of KD Lang

It must be the march of the brave souls

of the drawing of the truth

of the giant magnet 

of life itself given here

under my skin.


Hope, dark and thick 

always through a narrow time


Oh, and the constant hunger of wisdom

always hungry, always have been


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Thousands line the streets

just to glimpse the torch

waving their green ribbons

donated by BP


The Official Oil and Gas Partner for London 2012.


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WOL Olympic Competition


Once you had your images.

Cardiac tamed by the smile

behind the name.


Secrets that you’ve

hymn drawn

to your later

arrow eyes.


You are my pen

after the punishment.


Once you had your heart,

But it came out garbled.


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Jubilee plastic bowler

rolls around the train

full of puke


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A Garland of White Roses

Back again

Head down

Scrubbing the ball

furiously on his flannels


A little sweat off the brow

onto the hand


onto the ball


Four men up close

A scowl at the batsman


Hawke goes forward

and he’s caught


Cowdrey swooped at it

Up went Trueman

Up went the crowd

Stood to him

Cheered him


And as Hawke wal...

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Easington Colliery

They strain towards the light.

Blinded by a death

in black and white.

Stood in a puddle of water

its darkness climbing legs

like sweet peas.

Tickling those hardened

by the tenebrous earth.                                                         Photograph by Keith Pattison

Leaching tears since ’51.


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coal mining

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