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two boys and two girls
dressed in sacks --
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Her friend, an engineer, looked at the water leaking from the small aeroplane. No ways, he said, I am not boarding.
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Once together, spell has held them captive:
fingers explore, touch and stroke follow;
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Death is such
a femme fatale ...
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I always loved trinkets and novelties. It was thus not unusual to see me, a little girl, fascinated by circlets made of flowers, woven thro
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English:
On the balcony of my memory
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life paints with an unsteady hand
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cobalt the surface that swirl
in the soul
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I am from smeared ink
and wrinkled pages.
From beginnings, middles,
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Did you ever take time
to look into my eyes?
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Nothing ever brings that back
hidden in the vault, disgust.
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Why do you sketch sad with a happy face,
with eyes shimmering its depth of disguise?
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Okay, we will not look into meaning:
we will sketch our feelings
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This aroma he said, smiling,
carries you.
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Hand a face
to cover hollow eyes:
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I dance to only one Star:
reaching down,
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Nothing gives solace and sorrow exactly as pines do:
the soft swish in the cold wind
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Love your mother-in-law, and her daugter.
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Thunder the mower ...
mountains no cover.
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my Garrett loves me so very much
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my words are not here
and you do not read them
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flat on my face
I count the rows
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By divine code
genesis and genetics
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When words become poems
poets become homeless:
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Invisible,
a hand is paging
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Check out cleared. Times gone by receive the finger.
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It forces it between thought and deed:
the seed of feeling:
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Looped in rebound, the soul waxes and wanes: expansion often deflates inhalations of illusions.
Reality is air, in beautiful flow or froze
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The cock crows.
Staccato's sent out to lazy sleepers:
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an open latch
brings to loneliness
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I typed wrokds
while thinking words on works.
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dashing and deft
the agile mind waits ...
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You are a poet's friend You're always ready to lend
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Make your poems And I'll make mine.
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when rain falls, and storm has crushed
to silence wrought from gale and mud
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"Paid by my lord, one portrait, Lady Anne,
full length with bird and landscape,
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Our connection could have been
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I always liked the spelling
of that word- "Exhausted".
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My dreams were eaten
by the worm at the bottom
by Sam-a-nantha
26 lines,
on Feb 23 6:38 PM 2008. In sadness, life, pain, reality, poem, love, poetry, relationship, creative writing, rel
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Some by mistake are scratched away
Only to have their remains left for everyone to see.
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