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The stream (all workshops)

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From my window woefully, I did see

All the world that passed by me

I did not invite the devils in

I did not commit the cardinal sin

Yet I drown in a lake of sand

As I seek one innocent hand

I carved my epitaph in rock and stone

The word “Peace”, that alone

I tried to live a life of contentment

While the gods in their resentment

Fortified in malice and greed

Leaving me in anguish and need

Of that which I was promised

And which I never received.


© 2018 Robert J Tucker Ph D

Bars in Cars

The man on the radio
is talking to me,
the orchestra
playing for my heart.
I didn't know
so many notes
fit in there:
88 keys trilling
for 90 measures,
the drums beating
72 beats per minute,
a chamber choir
for each chamber,
the 4 great veins
a string quartet,
the conductor
keeping pace
like the sinoatrial node.

Just You

If I've to remember
just two,
one of them
would be you

if fewer,
it would be
just you

if nothing,
then there isn't
worth remembering

It's You
who makes Me

walking on dead flower petals

When they call me delicate
don't underestimate me.
for i am not as delicate as a flower
i am as delicate as a bomb.

Lost & Found

I lost 'me' where the foliage had to stream,
in worn out memories, and cold dreams,
on the cliffs and the gulfs of time
where willows whine with no rhyme.
Then I found 'me' - bashing
through the ember
of September,
A phoneix grew_
I found


With the days
fast fading light
when all prepare to sleep
the voiceless apparitions
suddenly begin to speak

Shadow caught
in a pale moonlight
howling to
a starless night

Marauders of unspoken dream
preying upon ones fear
the veil that shrouds
subconscious mind
they rend and shred
and tear

Till they are sated
loathed and hated
these pillagers of the night

Voices take on fevered pitch
inside my head they do unhitch
the last strains of
my sanity

Silent Lovers

(I lost my voice,
out your name.


I lost you
because my voice

under years
of pain
and novocaine.

And now that I
have found
my voice

(like Paul McCartney’s
“Don’t Stop

you’re not around
to hear me

and sing
and sing and sing.

(Oh what a
what a tragic,

common thing.)


Now is the winter of our Brexit intent
Made glorious summer by this Lady called May;
And all the clouds that poured upon her house.

Now are our brows bound with doubts and misdeeds?
Our bruised egos hung up as monuments;
Our stern faces charged for many meetings,

Our protest marches delightfully ignored.
Grim-faces hath the cabinets endured;
To fright the souls with fearful adversaries,

But, am I not shaped for the EU’s tricks,
I, am rudely stamped on whatever I want
MP’s strut before a wanton decision less world.

Strumpet High.

Strumpet High...

Strumpet street is on a high'
magic dust has just been found.
On banker’s lane they're slapping thigh,
four hundred dollars to a pound.

The barman are all feeling glum,
alcohol not now first choice.
I guess it’s alright for some,
cash sure calms the errant voice

Different street different needs,
both afflicted by disease.
Dealer preys, user concedes,
both have an urge to please.


Lanterns shattered
scattered amid the dark
yet fertile fields
emitting fractured light

The fervent beating of broken images
trying to re light the flame
much like the frantic beat
of the hummingbirds wings

Overwhelming need
to follow the path
to fruition
not knowing where to begin
or finding resolve

Desire to goal
is a long road
without an end
perhaps never to be found

Fight one more battle
for the sake of the fight
then pretend all is right


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