to make sense of the world as best we can

this is how we live

you are a quatrain to me

you are a sonnet

my mother is a villanelle 

her brain corroded

the violence of words take flight from our pens

my heart is the white space








between lines of faded text.

◄ (star)

loss (tanka) ►


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Wolfgar Miere

Sat 9th Jul 2016 17:51

Thats very true Stu,

although you could always write of your disdain for the poetry of others, much more fun, more revealing and somehow cathartic.


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Stu Buck

Sat 9th Jul 2016 17:47

thanks david! if in doubt write about your all consuming thirst for poetry.

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Wolfgar Miere

Sat 9th Jul 2016 17:42

Brilliant Stu,

especially the last two lines, love it.


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