Striking chords

There is no one sound associated with life and what we have to give. Yes and yet silence exists, we look for and find tranquillity in an ordered mind. Some build the wall and though perception is all they block it out, some are so certain that they draw a curtain blocking sound out. I tiptoe…

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Unlikely to be an anagram

Change the name you end up mean, I don’t or never did do as I was bid until the time changed a mite and she was there in the night asking me to be me but differently. If there’s a million reasons to wonder why, I wonder why adds to the sum which is equal…

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Veils

I’m going in on through do you want to too? let’s go through together. I think my Karma goes arm in arm with her and she holds my hand…

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Are we there yet again

Cast off stop knitting start swimming we’re all drowning. it’s not quite time but it’s a quiet time and that’s good enough. Someone takes pity in New York city and drops me a dime but the city is played out like an overworked mine and a dime is all I expect. Dreams. On the streets…

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all will be well

cross my fingers hope to fly before my heart stops, and I wonder why some birds have wings but prefer to walk? nothing to say and yet you talk must be something in the water. If I catch the dawn before it can break would you take me to your heart or sit there in…

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Viscous circles

Those feelings we reel in when we’re reeling with pain, I am guilty of casting that net. If one cannot get blood from a stone then I know that I am not that hard, for I bleed with the need to feel something more than disgust at the blood on the living room floor. Nothing…

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Coffee kicking in

Why poetry? why not it’s got everything and it’s low in calories. okay it’s addictive but most things are poetry is by far the nearest place to nearly there where I’ll ever be…

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A bouncing boy

..and we breathe begin to oxidise tears that run to rust dry on the eyes that see a boom and then a bust but nothing untoward that comes towards me only Destiny and she’s no angel. People come and go some I know some I’ve known and now outgrown childish ways ‘not so much ‘the…

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Noughts and crosses

I don’t know if I’ll get there and not sure if I’ll go, but hope has to be somewhere the prophet told me so. If and when (the carrot and the stick ) I do will you be there before me? private questions with no answers dance across my tiring eyes, more sure of this…

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Trying not to be s trynosaur

Ready to fly off die off, cry off, boredom likes to kill. People I have known who’ve flown, took the final bow how I miss them. Old men and memory are taking me, but I will resist them, I have no time for old men although the ladies are quite sweet. But it’s a numbers…

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Following in footsteps

Mine was a long road not the longest road but long enough to learn what I had to learn to turn things around to take my head from the clouds and keep my feet on the ground but every road has a lay-by for dreamers mine was no different except the lay-by became the mainstay…

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The Soho diary

it becomes a part of history his story her story my story their story your story, some came for fame others for glory and all are woven in to the pages of the story…

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Posing for pictures

Judas scuppered the plan for a last supper reunion. some nights I don’t write I watch the sunset and some nights I don’t sleep I watch the moonbeams that dance dreamily, meaning me or something like that. I have a shoulder in fact I have two which are not as strong as yours but you…

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Loading Wednesday

If it takes me forever I might never get there but no one was listening One day when I’m old enough to portray a life I’ll write poetry and that’s another forever that’ll never get here…

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Base ten

I lingered too long on her lips was I wrong? and why if ‘a kiss is just a kiss’ do I miss so much the kiss she kisses me with? I see eye to eye on the ‘fifty things to do before you die’, but each thing ends with us being more than just friends…

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That question

I thought it was over until you came on over and it started to rain. the pain you inflict on me and still I am stuck on you if love really does run true where does it run to?…

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‘..and he walked a crooked mile..’

This could have been written in Wapping but it wasn’t it was penned in ink by a stranger I met who was cleaning his face with battery fluid, I asked him if doing it that way extended his life, he shrugged and said, what else is there and who cares anyway? I watched his life…

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The scenery shifters

When things are as they seem to be they seem not to be to me and that’s almost Shakespeare, but he isn’t here and so it’s not. I have a lot of time for dead poets they speak to me in words they have written in books that I borrow, words filled with love, with…

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