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Perfect…almost,
But not quite,
The pristine lawn
With my prints upon it,
Deep, deliberate,
I am a bud
Newly picked,
Unopened, and ..
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A poem for Remembrance Sunday.
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What happens when you let a bunch of artists loose in an abandoned shop. Farewell Bagpuss Window, it was good making your all-too-brief acquaintance.
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I have come to the edge
Of what I know
In this place, that is neither
Earth nor shadow.
You are water
And I, land-locked,
Liminal, fac..
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I saw salvation in a bookshop,
Stroking the cracked spines
With painted fingernails,
Her eyes thick with words,
Saw birds circling ov..
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I've always been interested in the Comedia Del'arte - Harlequin, Columbine, Pierrot etc. They were the precursors of pantomime, but like all the best ..
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He watches the glacial slope of her bodyMelting into bubbles, continentsDrift, the shell of her neck,Curved prow of hips, sink andLull to the rise and..
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It has been rainingFor more days thanI can remember.The stars are infinite With no sky big enoughTo hold themSo that, looking up,I am afraid of fallin..
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After the sky had fallen, Turning the air black So that there was nothing We could recognise, except... The ashen skies, blue and purple Like a bruise..
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This was inspired by a friend who is always very expressive with his hands.
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