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 Sep 2016
David Patrick O'C
I recognise
those tired eyes
with fond recollections
how we made them so
by the lush warmth of the fireside
through the night:
decadent movements.
Oh,
how those eyes and your body glowed.
 Sep 2016
David Patrick O'C
I watched her crush him as she broke his heart
Then she wanted to grind him to dust
with the expectation of friendship.
Heartless *****,
hasn't he suffered enough?
 Sep 2016
Keith Wilson
As  the  saying  goes.
Money  is  the  root  of  all  evil.
Money  as  never  interested  me.
As  long  as  I  have  enough  to  get  by.
I'm  happy.

It  was  the  same  at  work.
The  lads  fighting  to  get  the  overtime.
I  just  wanted  to  get  home.
To  my  wife  and  kids.

People  here  say  why  don't  you  sell.
Some  of  the  bits  you  have  around  the  flat.
But  they  give  me  much  more  pleasure.
Than  money  ever  will.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.
 Sep 2016
John Stevens
A wasted life, from fog of use.
Scars untold, years of abuse,
Bends the mind, from right to wrong.
Life out of tune, no longer a song.
Scars so deep, it covers the heart
no hope shines through, no point to start
to erase the pain, it seems insane
To a life gone wrong,

Through the fog, a point of light
Shone bright,
At first, then to fade, to die
from self pity and pain, from the lie,
Can not forgive the pain of past.
Can not forgive myself, to last.

Through the fog, a hand reached out.
Took my hand, I had my doubt.
Been there, many times before
The hurts and hang ups, seemed to soar.
The voice said, “You are forgiven.”
“It's time to trust, to start livin'.”
The chains fell off, I was free.
To start anew, To trust, to BE.

A wasted life, in years of fog    
Now Forgiven.
(c)09/03/2010 John Stevens
I have listened to many “life stories”
to know there is always hope.

All prison don't have bars
made of steel to hold us back
They come in many forms
of our making, there is no lack.
 Aug 2016
Brother Jimmy
It’s really not funny, you know

I can’t …keep …my head up

My eyelids are heavy and low

My blood is all …bled up…

Or maybe it’s drained down below

To my stomach, where dinner churns

Maybe just a quick lie-down, though

But the Rabbi implores us to stay alert

Gah!  I can’t help it. My lids are like lead

Peripheral vision's closing in

‘Can’t escape grogginess in my head

He’ll understand...flesh is sin.

I don’t have power

The power of will

In this late hour

With the moon and the chill

The spirit is willing

But the flesh is weak

His anguish is chilling

The outlook is bleak

But even so, I’m just so drained.

Each time my head bobs I make Him weep!

I was made this way, I’ve always maintained,

I just can’t function without sleep
 Aug 2016
Irving MacPherson
rolling and holding
onto a used to be,
always unfolding
across a jealous sea.

your father's scolding is
whipped waves roaring,
a howling wind that tore
the sound from
hell's aching bell.

your father's smile, bliss,
graceful, gentle, wide.
when it falls down
you can't hide,
you can't hide.

rolling and holding
onto a use to be,
always unfolding
across a jealous sea.
'used to be' or 'use to be'... that is the question
 Aug 2016
Robert C Howard
(Plaster cast at Pompeii)                    

                [THE TOUR GUIDE]

                “Ladies and gentlemen, here we are at Pompeii's
                fabled Thermal Baths where heated water was
                passed through duct work in the walls.  One can          
                imagine Nero himself stopping here on one of            
                his visits.”


[BONITO]

Bonito stepped out of the bathhouse and looked up.
Vesuvius rumbled - shaking ash and fire skyward.
Breaking into a run he sought the south road,
glancing back anxiously at the
vast dark cloud billowing down the mountain.

                "The principal city roads were recessed
                and wagons were required to have standardized
                wheelbases and clearances to fit in channels cut
                into the stone.  Follow me please to the residential
                area.”


He gained the road and his feet
pounded the stones of the “via stabiana.”
The cloud multiplied and fell on the city.
Ever deepening layers of ash clogged Benito’s path.
Heart pounding in his chest he lengthened his strides.

                “Leaving the opulent villas with their spacious
                atria, we now enter the market area where we
                shall see a display of remarkable interest.  During
                excavations, empty spaces were discovered in
                the ash deposits.”


The rising ash captured his left leg.
Bonito inhaled the fiery air and ******
forward into a burst of falling soot
but was unable to finish his stride.

                “Archaeologists poured plaster into the voids
                revealing the outlined bodies of Pompeiins
                trapped in their final moments.  Take, for example,
                this man caught in mid-step with no time
                to escape the life choking dust.”


*June, 2006
 Aug 2016
Sjr1000
Life somehow finds its way
cracks in the concrete
a rose
Neon in the desert night miles away.
Ancient lakes
beneath thousands of years of ice
blind beings buried in the sands
on the winds
in your eyelids
Life somehow finds its way.

On city streets
tented encampments
brutal abuse
where all should be dead
Life somehow finds a way.

The wounded
tormented by years of sorrow
even when all others succumb.
Somehow life finds its way.

Having babies in the fields
Plague in the gardens
Epidemic on the concrete
Wars in the jungle
Somehow life finds a way.

It has been said
over specialization leads to extinction
species come and go
will it now always be so?

Has the last bell rung?
has the last song been sung?
Is this the end of us?
I guess mankind will decide
whether we are here or not up for the ride.

Or
on planets around distance suns
perhaps
life has somehow found its way.
 Aug 2016
Keith Wilson
He  stays  with  us  in  winter  storms
And  when  the  garden's  bleak
He  hops  around  in  sleet  and  hail
Appearing  pale  and  weak.

But  once  the  days  begin  to  lengthen
And  the  worst  of  winter's  gone
He  perches  high  up  in  a  tree
And  begins  his  joyful  song.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.
 Aug 2016
Anne Kho
If apples were pears
And peaches were plums
And the rose had a different name.

If tigers were bears
And fingers were thumb,
I'd love you just the same.
 Aug 2016
Sameer Denzi
Nothing is the cost
To utter a word.
But,
If the wrong word is uttered,
At the wrong time,
Great might be the cost
Of that word.
Speaking from experience of course :)
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