Monthly Archives: July 2014

. star child .

the words came suddenly.

an odd day, no gentle people
to woo thee, day of stress, and horror,
you watch the news. a day of reality,
the reckoning that no where is safe.

there is a new moon this week.

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change

there is a feel in the air,
a change in the whether.

very place caused confusion,
pond dipping involuntary
shuddering, and delight at small creatures.

who play croquet with new rules,
we never knew the old, it proved
without flamingos
that i am not alice.

it is about a year now,
i blocked you.

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. laurel .

resting on one a while.

very early here, news came, so
now we lay a while, to hope
it will alleviate the gloom from
those who have no manners, no
style and niceties. i will draw on
the experience, while others
bomb empty houses.

it is a gold award for drawing.

moon boats.

‘ i did not wish to die, my son’

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i did not want to die, my son

i have been away a while

having trouble getting back.

difficulty finding words, of the
simple type, to type.

spell out the consequences,
of an easy life.

is it criticism, or a general sensitivity,
which abounds, confounds the
smallest heart.

she says we should not handle bats.

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gift

. the other room .

then she spoke to me,
came from abergele,
at the door all day,
learning history
of kitchens, copper pans.

talked of every day, not dates,
or kings and queens.

the bedroom roped with blue,
a smallish bed and posies.

I feel nothing here,
no lost words or empathy.

it was closer, below.

where are you now?

is it a spinette?

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sarah’s bible

there is lavender
in the fire, someone
is tapping
on the window, patterned
with cracked kings and
predecessors.

sarah’s bible, hand held,
open via perspex
and blue velvet
at ecclesiastes
chapter three.

to everything
there is a
feafon, etc,
in italics.

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. library .

all the novels, and romance.

volume two to forty.
all others being
fakes
that need dusting.

the clocks,
no ticking, no sound.

soft sands of time
stand still.

the glass is clouded here.

it is an old place,
which shuts in winter.

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untitled

the blue is a prim,
and pretty room, draped
with musical games
of chance,
for settling here.

harp strings
relay the vital net,
after Shakespeare.
the visitors leave,

lord Byron wrote
of hours of idleness,
the letters below,
and all the while
you have no love for me,
worrying over the empty barn.

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reflect

it is an older mirror,
speckled with time.

liquid memories,

we make a place of safety
with our thoughts and habits.

our work. our souls
are in our chests.

look here, she said.
please, do not touch
the ladies bed,
with lavender and velvet pillow.

the way is barred now,
the time is past.

things have become misshapen.

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mobile

only one shutter
speed, htc desire.

so we clicks quite fast,
failing the photo challenge
today. It is a point to make
that any old camera will do,
if we is short on cash, or
undecided what to buy.

I am not at all tecnical
nor can i spell it. the coach

went quite fast.

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