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There was no poetry between us.
Just a block of text
margin                                                to    ­                                                margin
that iterated our minutes-
a list of action
and inaction.
 May 2014 Ian Cairns
Raphael Uzor
With a blistered heart
From unnumbered breaks,
A cloud of unshed tears
From untold betrayals,
I reenter the world
After an eternity or more
Of self imposed asylum
From a world of superficial bliss.

A world unchanged!
A cruel untended garden
Of deceptive beauty
And unkind thorny roses.
Lovelorn shadows,
Masquerading venomous claws
With beauteous flamboyance
And undesirable attraction.

Lethargic feelings,
Dousing my desires
With drowsing memoirs
Of countless emotional abuse,
Causing momentary spasms
In cerebral regions
Parading nocuous images
In the plenitude of projected beauty.

Scarred beyond immediate cure,
I recede from said world-
Too adverse for tender hearts
Back to hibernating moods
To nurse evergreen cuts
Cuts so deep, so lethal
Only the indolent strides of time
Can attempt to stitch!

Awaiting prophetic moments
Moments with mirage qualities
When in-love I can fall again
When a damsel I can trust again
When my heart can beat again
For one with pure intentions
Not putrefied by Hollywood mentors
But virtuous in biblical ways...


© Raphael Uzor
What if,
The definition is different
For everyone
It finds?
 May 2014 Ian Cairns
Raj Arumugam
Helen and Bill
were out camping
with their little kids
Annie and Sam

and Bill killed a deer
out there in the open
and his wife cooked it
and the kids
Annie and Sam
came after their swim
for their lunch

and the kids asked their dad:
“What’s for lunch?”
Bill hushed his  wife and he said
to the kids:
“Guess what meat it is,
children.
Here’s a clue:
Think of what mom
calls me other than my name”


And  Annie screamed:
*“Don’t eat it, Sam!
It’s an *******!”
 May 2014 Ian Cairns
Grace
Haiku
 May 2014 Ian Cairns
Grace
I can't move forward
Considering where I've been
Gravity suspends
These eyes of mine
Have seen
Beyond the imaginary lines of being,

A broken heart mend over the written word shared by those whose wisdom has surpassed time,

Beautiful sunsets painted over gray lines by poets who know that you'll never know the true meaning of joy without a little pain paving the way.

I have wandered in the caves of those who dare to etch their souls on paper, and shun their thoughts to wondering eyes,

To give meaning to the lives of many, direction to the gypsey, and a mender for the torn,

Walked more than a mile in shoes of so many to find the quintessence of broken glasses, the epitome of troubled souls, and the essence of being,

Beautiful melodies that soothe the soul through the ears of a deaf man,

The rhythm of a heart in love that sickens the soul, invades the thoughts and leaves every inch of the body longing,

A memory of a love so precious, unforgettable that it's fragrance lingers still from a distant memory,

And when all is lost and plundered,
Your words are like a thread that sews patch after patch across my torn silhouette


It's a pleasure
To have read so many inspiring, beautiful and heartfelt poetry in here.
This goes out to r,Traveler,Kat Rose, Kelly Rose, D. Rose, Pradip C, Nat Lipstadt, Maria, Borrowed, Timothy, mybarefootdrive, Amy, Chalsy Wilder, Shivani (sp), Soul Survivor, Rained on parade, PrttyBird, John Steven, Robert Martin, quinfinn, Liam, Gabriel, Inevitably raised by ducks, TL Sipple, Joe A

And each one of the 180 people who follow me, you're truly inspiring!
 May 2014 Ian Cairns
Mike Hauser
I think of all the little cowboys
Riding around in toy cars
Learning valuable life lessons
As tiny arrows pierce their hearts

When I think of little cowboys
I think back to yesterdays
When I too was a little cowboy
In all my cowboy ways

And how little cowboys love little cowgirls
That feel at home on the range
How they ride and rope and rustle
All of the live long day

When the little cowboys day is over
They hang their spurs up for the night
Thinking back on the days adventures
As they live out the cowboy life

Soon sleep takes the little cowboys
In their pajamas made of jeans
Riding the range at night by campfire light
As they lasso all their dreams
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