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D.W. Hamilton

Updated: Sat, 12 Sep 2020 07:06 am

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Poet in Seattle.


The man with the black beard and Russian hat smokes a pipe with rough reddened hands poking from the heavy green sleeve of his tweed winter coat. A maroon woolen muffler wraps around his neck he reads from THE BOOK OF ILLEGAL POETRY. “In the land of broken promises down the Valley of Dreams Forgot. . . SECTION II from the Third Reich THE MULTIPLICITY OF THE CHURCH OF LIES “Across from the Tree of loneliness” The smoke whirls about his face in a small white cloud shaped like a question mark. We went for long walks that January half-caught glimpses, echoes from the stairs people slept in doorways. We browsed in second hand bookstores and walked for 3 miles and talked interrupting each other. My umbrella twirled on my shoulder in the soft slow thin rain. For it was warm that month and didn't snow. II “Beware of those who dare to bathe there and let their notions swim for in it lies a crevice. . . “ We bought a bar of chocolate and snapped it back and forth to share. DENIAL OF THE EXISTENCE OF THE SOUL We went to a Catholic cathedral and lit $0.15 candles and made wishes while scowling "Which can drag those few within. It's a golden ring you're after Somewhere in this world." His eyes are soft and brown like his sighs. He Iives in a house with many others. "It's dropping through the dank grey mist getting lost farther in the swirl. " We fed quarters to vending machines with glass booths who housed Madame Zelda Who read our palms and foretold our fortunes. And we laughed with Sailor Joe. III On an ornate concrete bench at the gilded entrance of the zoo, a playwright, a Mason, a school teacher. THE MYTH OF THE NECESSITY OF FREEDOM His wife once knit intricate sweaters of multicolored yarn And made soup from homegrown vegetables. We talked until there was nothing left. Yet, you were right beside me, near The silent pause grew longer, more awkward. We had been children once who laughed and jumped in puddles. Life our plaything. "And suddenly you're a stray grey cat Which landed on its feel In the timeless desert just off Second Street. " THE WILL OF THE STATE FOR THE GOOD OF ALL. The zookeeper was sweeping the empty cage clean. You were reading.

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keith jeffries

Sat 20th Nov 2021 15:04

I read with growing interest your poem 1990. Somehow it was akin to reading something which resembled a literary frieze which left me wanting to meet and speak with the man with the black beard and Russian hat. He cuts an enigmatic figure. You possess a unique style of writing which is quite fascinating. At times it is disjointed but the reader is spurred on with renewed interest. I have read some of your work so far and look forward to more.

Thank you for this


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Nigel Astell

Tue 21st Jul 2020 23:11

Thanks for your like on
They Say

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D.W. Hamilton

Wed 15th Jul 2020 16:57

Glad to be here. Thanks for noticing !

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