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Ten Years Later

Her jeans were as worn and faded,
As her once vibrant smile...
The years had been less than forgiving,
She had lived her life beneath a neon sign...

I could see the fiery passion,
Still hidden in those eyes...those eyes...
Her hand slipped easily into mine,
She spoke with a gentle calmness...

Ten years had flashed by in a single moment,
We were back to a simpler time...
When cares were few and dreams were plenty,
How long could we hold on to it, an hour...maybe two...

The Grateful Fire

As I roast and I toast
I’m most proud to be host
To those, who make me glow
As they eat and warm up their toes

Be it a friend or a foe
As I glow and I show
My display I can certainly say
Soon, is end of my days

Although right now I thrive
They won’t keep me alive
They’ll pack up and go back inside
And leave me to shrink as I die

And yet with sparks that I spit
I don’t scorn those who sit
I’m still pleased that I’ve lived
I say thank you to them: I’ve been lit

SELF

SELF

PALM

PALM

My palm, when an inked print is made
Is as stems growing in an Eastern jungle
An attempt to display those Nazca lines
Or an early drawn map of the Nile delta
Four main lines and many smaller ones
Each with significance to some who know
And to one side is a faint diagonal mesh
Perhaps a net to catch an interpretation

SOMEBODY IS MISSING

SOMEBODY IS MISSING

So, are we all gathered here
I’ll do a headcount to be sure
Five of us, but we should be six
This leaves us in a bit of a fix
All of us went through that door
Jim’s the medic, there’s his gear

Jon, did you check the display
It would have shown us as light
Maggie – wasn’t Jim with you
And wasn’t Ken with him too
This portal isn’t working right
I hope we can get back today

a poem in which i ask for the things i do not have

give me a memory in which your voice does not sound like receding footsteps / give me a memory in which my father does not chase me out of the house for daring to look him

straight in the eye / give me a truth that isn't bitter enough for me to spit out lies / give me a dream in which my brother isn't lying too still on the bed / give me enough

strength in these fingers to write a new world into existence / give me a starry night that doesn't end with me screaming myself awake / give me an early afternoon that doesn't

A STRANGE STORY

A STRANGE STORY

Gather around and let me begin
To tell you a tale that’s very strange
It’ll beguile you, before it lets you in
Before any preconceptions change

A story with no beginning nor end
Just a continuous plot you must follow
As into strangeness you will descend
And realise that everything is hollow

No pauses or places to draw a breath
Like a mosquito it drains your blood
And the prospect of an unusual death
As unexpected tears flow in full flood

ORIGINS

ORIGINS

A thin streak of pink where the blade has been
An untold story of both accident and design
When emotions rose up, washing sense away
And no conscious thought will ever hold sway
Whilst regret and remembrance hold the line
As reluctant contributors to the saddest scene

Her Majesty of the Purple Mountains

<p>O' dutiful... the racist lies .....
For dapper knaves at play
America... America - Lady Liberty of mass mediocracy
God shed his grace on thee but look at what you've become
See what you have done
How are we to crown good when a brotherhood would send you to grave?
A burial may be better than the bed you're in today.
Politicians turned to pimps -Campaigns running as you limp.
Elected pricks prepared strip constitutional rights- judicial processes eschewed

MAKING THE CUT

MAKING THE CUT

It’s not just in golf one makes the cut
At the very least to avoid elimination
Even that very last short distance putt
The crowd looking on in anticipation
Failure is no option, it’s anything but
The thought of missing that ovation
One can feel it right there in your gut

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