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 Jun 2014 Amy Leigh
Hayleigh
You scream urgency
Like an accident and emergency
waiting room,
like a person relapsing into addiction,
Because they pushed themselves
too soon.
And there are claw marks in the soil,
Where you've tried to get to grips,
with solid ground,
There's a danger in your voice,
Like a lost child waiting to be found,
And you string sentences at a time
but no sound emits.
Danger, like,
Racing cars and frightened cries,
And there are holes in your back,
Formed by the lies,
You've been subjected too
And i wonder if i could use them
To breath life back into you.
I wonder if i get close enough,
If i could see,
The dreams and memories,
Before they turned stale
And congealed in your veins,
And left you entangled in the remains.
The valleys of your eyes,
Run wide and down deep,
And when you weep,
Your tears fall heavier,
Than a ten tonne van,
You're a shadow of the man,
You used to be,
And even your shadow,
Has deserted you,
Sought someone anew.
And your foundations
Are built on heartache and pain,
And those little tear ducts in your eyes,
Constantly rain,
But you you're in a draught,
All the love you've showered others in
Means you've ran out,
for yourself,
And your health is a picture
Of cigarettes and late night drinks,
Old whiskey, poured down sinks,
And you're reaching the brink,
The breaking point,
But you quite like the sound,
Of broken plates,
And you quite like the taste,
Of self destruction.
And there's a ghost,
Where you used to be,
Haunting the curves
Of your smile,
That you paint on,
Why you defile
Your skin,
This terror your living in,
Could start a thousand wars,
And this battle your fighting,
Inside of your mind,
Leaves a carcus, a morsel,
Of yourself behind.
Your insides stick to the past,
Like double sided cello tape,
And there are windchimes in your spine,
Where your bones should be,
And your heart on your sleeve,
Is clouded,
By red marks where you've sliced open your skin,
In at attempt to be free,
Of those demons, the sin,
For a new beginning.
There's toxic in your lungs,
And a noose around your neck,
Where you've hung your expectations
Too high,
And you're hanging by a thread,
And tying knots the further down you slip,
As you sip,
Another shot of courage.
But there's only so long,
One can hold on for,
And believe me I've been down
To the depths of hell and danced with the devil
On many occasions,
And the sheer frustration,
Of the attempts to be patient,
Are wearing thin,
Like the warm skin, that stretches,
Over your protruding bones.
Just a first draft..
 Jun 2014 Amy Leigh
Hayleigh
There's a noose around your neck,
where you've hung your expectations
Too high.
 Jun 2014 Amy Leigh
Raj Arumugam
For sure the woman
killed her husband -
she served him hot soup
mixed well with poison

But her defense lawyer wanted
to give her a chance
so maybe she could get
a few years instead of life

And so he asked her as
she stood in the box:
“Mrs Tile, did you feel any remorse,
considering you killed your husband?”


“Sure, I did,” said Mrs Tile
*“when he asked for second helpings”
4th poem in my series of poems on ******, detectives, lawyers, crime and such delights
 Jun 2014 Amy Leigh
SG Holter
The crane turns
Sunlight blinds me
Like you did

I haven't seen shade
Since our eyes first met

The layer of gray water
On the surface of
This fresh concrete

Is as smooth as the skin
On your shoulders

When you undressed
Before me
And the moonlight threw a

Living
Breathing
Cliché
Over us

The sound of machines
Turning off for the day
Gives a silent vacuum

Within which I meditate
Over the beauty even a
Construction site holds when its
Things remind me

Of you
 May 2014 Amy Leigh
Tea
How will you convince a man
that his own garden is beautiful
if he insists on
looking over the fence?
Interpret it as you wish.
 May 2014 Amy Leigh
SG Holter
If you hold a seashell
Against your ear,
You will hear a tic-toc
Within the knock of your own
Heart counting down by

Each beat being
Unfathomably fainter; you
Must
Write
Now.
Write for your life.

Silence is sin. Blank pages and
Clean walls around
The dwellings of your poetic
Powers; pure
Blasphemy.

Write, poet. Write for your life.
Counter every grain
Of sand passing, with
Words.
Write prose on the wind with
Your fingers to be carried into

The Archives of All. Write as if
Your death depends
On it. Express the beauty of
Our common insignificance,
And how we are still
Held above
Angels.

Write for your lives, flee
From slumber; awake.
There's lucidity here, unlike
Any seen through the haze of a
Dreamer's eyes.

You are the voice of the
Human Race, the last line of
Defence against
Robot lives
In a cold
Machine.

Write for our lives.
Write for your lives.
 May 2014 Amy Leigh
Damaged
Don't be around me if I'm.

High

Sad

or tired


And if you're dying to see a disaster happen

Don't be around me when I'm high and sad...

...and it's late...


And if you really want me to fall apart

**Tell me you're in love with me.
Say it from your heart
 May 2014 Amy Leigh
Ellie Stelter
today was long
and full of
wonders:
a sky, a mountain,
technology, a dress,
a photograph.

I breathed
deeply
of the air and sun, and
out there
among the trees,
I felt strong
and real
and alive
for the first time
in months.

it is not
man alone
in nature: the Romantics
had it wrong.
when we walk
into the woods
we do not walk alone
for we are part of it,
part of the earth
breathing in time
with the trees,
hearts beating
along with rivers.
no. we are not
as alone as they would
have you believe:
there is earth
and mud, grass
and dirt and mountains,
and us.
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