I see you everywhere

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The cloud is sketched on sky-blue cloth

dappled like newly dead flesh,

darker violets and purples fill dimming gaps

as sun-rays pool in fading light. 


I remember your face swollen against stone,

black with blood which stained the rock,

how does this vision of beauty now,

pull such bitter memory from me?


that here in England,

I see your face, projected upon our globe, my mind.

I close my eyes and listen to the earth turn

as your image spins from view. 


And though you are gone

I see you everywhere.



◄ Molecule

Private viewings in The City of Light ►


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Wolfgar Miere

Thu 13th Apr 2017 11:06

Thanks Andy,

thats very kind of you, I have no reservations about the use of the word peculiar.

Thanks again, much appreciated.


Travis Brow

Thu 13th Apr 2017 06:36

David, it's that second line; it's like a splinter of ice. This is a chilling poem and i think it confirms that you have a peculiar take on things, in a good way, that sets you apart, again i mean this in a good way.

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Wolfgar Miere

Wed 12th Apr 2017 12:39

Thanks SS,

interesting the comment you make on my reading of this one, it is a vivid memory which does occasionally intrude without warning.

I think because of that fact I didn't particularly have to think about my reading too much, it felt very real when reciting it.

thanks so much,


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suki spangles

Wed 12th Apr 2017 02:31

Hi David,

Although I can't add too much to what Ray and Paul have said, I again have to commend you on your reading - nigh on perfect. I can tell just by your reading, how real this is. Startling and poignant.


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Wolfgar Miere

Tue 11th Apr 2017 20:39

Thank you Paul and Ray,

there isn't much I can say in response to your generous words, other than that I remain grateful for your reading of my scribblings and the comments you so frequently make on them.

There can be a great deal of sadness, beauty and a sense of peace in memory, I am fortunate that the emotion of anger rises far less frequently these days.

Thanks again.


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Tue 11th Apr 2017 20:18

This could not be more specific in terms of the lack of choice in what comes to your mind. Even the death has a special beauty as you describe it, and that makes the poem so poignant - and quite horrific. You manage skilfully to juxtapose a sense of closeness and also a feeling of the need for removal too. Authenticity runs through it like a steel rod.


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Paul Waring

Tue 11th Apr 2017 08:17

Morning David,

Moving poem, beautifully written, with a real intensity of feeling. The contrast of the beauty of the sky with vivid memories of witnessing death is both poignant and powerful. Fine writing.


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