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Post by Goblin on Aug 15, 2005 3:21:34 GMT -5
SMALL TOWN
Half past late In an empty bar Just three lottery machines And me, and her She pours me out another drink And talks about her dream (The sort that makes you blush) Just then, the object of her lust Walks past We laugh "Don't tell!" She smiles "No secrets in a small town!" She frowns "No secrets in a small town"
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Post by Brian on Oct 24, 2005 2:28:55 GMT -5
I have to say , yet again. that this is one of my favourite places to visit on earth. I am soo incredibly glad that so many folks feel so free to express themselves.... it is so right , so human. No one is a critic. I just love that so many folks have felt so free to write what they feel, and that, after all is the true poetry of life. Different songs in different keys with different lyrics from different people - perfect. Don't stop. Everyone is welcome. And everyone in here is good, because, you ARE good. brian
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DFG
Security Guard Class 4
Remember as you slide down the bannister of life, may the slpinters never face the wrong way!
Posts: 44
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Post by DFG on Oct 24, 2005 14:03:07 GMT -5
I wrote this ages ago, it's not very good, but here I go
SKILLED HUNTER
Slowly, stealthily Through the dark night Silently searching For it's Victim
Prowling around Listening for Movements of Brushes
As though in A race it Moves with Speed of A runner
A cry of Pain as it Is caught Between the Sharp teeth
Up in the Air as the Hunter plays With its food
The bleeding creature Crawls pitifully away Only to be Quickly retrieved
What is it that Makes this hunter Torture its prey
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Post by Goblin on Oct 31, 2005 8:39:46 GMT -5
She can’t remember When she slept She can’t remember Where she lives Or how to find the way I know the place Her skin’s my map Slashed and burned But her face is pretty, still Trembling Reminding me Of spider webs In autumn The fine white lines The moisture All her scars are on the outside Nothing left inside but fear Hanging on by a thread Holding out her wrists “My life – “ She shrugs I nod I listen As she tells me of her day The everyday bravery That wins no medals Her fierceness fragile As spider webs Her eyes green as the sea Surprised, she asks me “Why are people kind?” But I can’t say And I look for the words in her “Never again” – But they’re not there So I let her kiss me And see she gets home safe
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Post by Goblin on Dec 7, 2005 3:52:49 GMT -5
IMMIGRANT
When all it takes Is a small change In speech In tone of voice In turn of phrase An accent is erased And mimicry Could give me anonymity
So easy To hide in plain sight But when you’re told That men died for the right To live free Told that they died for me To have a nation where my fate Was not determined solely By my faith Where we could speak A language of our own - How could I forget What they had done?
So though I live here peacefully It’s with an ancient enemy Almost forgotten, till that day Each year, that moment When they say - "We will remember them" Who should I remember then? Those of the land where I live Those of the land that I love The songs sung into my blood Before I was born
I keep my word I made my choice I hold my tongue I never lost my voice
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Post by Goblin on Jan 20, 2006 5:14:34 GMT -5
The girl he first approaches Looks at his frayed trousers - His bloodshot eyes His teeth like stalactites His bag of booze - She screams abuse Threatens him with the police (His only crime is loneliness)
He slumps in the bus shelter Paws at the pendant Of the woman at his side Tells her it’s a hard sign Tells her to be good “I wish I could” She smiles, and says she’ll try And then he asks about his wife Drunkenly wondering If she ever told their sons about him (His sons would now be grown Perhaps with children of their own He’ll never know)
He sighs “That bitch” More habit now than malice Her real name unremembered From his bag, he takes another beer And opens it – But doesn’t drink Just squints inside the hole Thinks about the sons she stole
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Post by Goblin on Feb 16, 2006 4:29:06 GMT -5
Fishing With lines, and barbs Fishing With compliments Not on banks In bars Reels in the prey Helpless on the hook Has it in the net Laughs Throws it away Back into the drink Not that hungry yet Not yet
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Post by Goblin on Mar 18, 2006 12:45:16 GMT -5
Once upon a time Once upon a time Before movies became so small, they could be boxed Before books became so cheap, they could be foxed In older days Stories lived in another place Inside of songs On tips of tongues The tongues of bards Brightening the long dark
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Post by Goblin on Apr 10, 2006 3:08:17 GMT -5
IMMERSION
Lost in thought, in water Snow brushes past me Much too cool to speak
Just under the boardwalk Baby waves, gurgling At some private joke
On my right, restless sea Muttering something That I can’t quite catch
On my left, spring water Its muffled reply Bottled in my bag
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quixote
Security Guard Class 4
Posts: 51
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Post by quixote on Apr 10, 2006 9:05:15 GMT -5
Goblin, Publish! Publish! Some wonderful work. The New Yorker lets one send them submissions by email. Just go to their site and fiddle around. BTW IIRC IMHO Publish!
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Astartiel
Love Slave
Seeking The Secret
Posts: 9
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Post by Astartiel on May 14, 2006 5:43:10 GMT -5
Well, I'm an infrequent poster to this board but I thought I'd post a couple of poems just for fun.
whispers
your soul speaks to me in whispers soft, still waters that lap at my shore teasing me with sweet, fragrant tones that echo in my mind and soul soft, round flavors fill me from your whispers leaving me wanting for more
Wonderland Poem
The wild wastes we wandered, wondering what we would wait for before we wandered on to the wonderland.
I really need to write more poems. Even my new poem (the first one) is old now. Aah, where is my muse?
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Post by Goblin on May 17, 2006 3:03:28 GMT -5
Hi Astartae
Good to see someone else posting poems. I'm sure your muse will reappear when you least expect it - mine usually pounces about 3am...
POULAPHOUCA
A village there was here, once A village that drowned For the needs of a town Thirsty for water, for power A mixed blessing, then and now The trees that stood upon the ridge Have found themselves down by the water’s edge Stooping elders, tired and confused Stubbornly clinging onto their roots Now mute swans glide where sheep once grazed And the glassy lake is as still as the graves Concealed in the darkness below Where mourners can no longer go The church has no bells to call people inside Doors silently swing in the teatime tide And memories of here Taint the bitter beer The taste of a village that died
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Post by Goblin on Jun 18, 2006 15:45:29 GMT -5
FERRY
In my younger days I would stand up on deck Walk, and watch the land Until it was gone Face flecked with salt The sea’s, my own
Years ago And things are different now Now there are just two areas Where passengers can stand – Small, barred – And one is for smokers I choose the other Standing by a man with wild eyes And wilder hair, even before the wind tugs at it
In silence, ignoring the insolent wind We watch the land Two strangers, together Until we can no longer kid ourselves That the grey smudge on the horizon Is anything other than rain Iron bars frame our final view of home
The man with wild eyes sighs Heads inside, to a different kind of bar (The black of the water The white of the foam Awaking a craving for Guinness)
I remain outside Hypnotised By the wake By what we leave behind
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Janika
Security Guard Class 1
Posts: 325
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Post by Janika on Jun 18, 2006 18:37:53 GMT -5
I liked that, Goblin, that was cool.
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Post by lanarose on Jun 19, 2006 21:57:37 GMT -5
If the burden of life is too much to bare, Remember there's someone who cares, Not ALL people are rough, Not ALL people are Tough, though they may appear to be... love one another...lust sleeps...ONE love under G!!! LanaRoseR
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