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- Return to Cliff Cottage at sharepoetry
Return to Cliff Cottage / / I make my living from the market-place / Just as my fathers would; / I move between the avenues / Selling and buying / Chattels. / Goods. / / I cry my wares as traders have / Since buying first began / - Gone (a new song lyric) at sharepoetry
/ I've lived my life in coffee cups / since I was just a kid / Wake up and smell the coffee, child: / That is what i did / / My daddy gave me coffee, over stories of the woods / It was more milk than coffee, / Strong and sweet, rich and - Still at sharepoetry
I’d really like / to be over you by now… / but still I suffer / loss / what we built over ten full years / was a precious living thing / still / to me not to you I believed your words / when your actions were so ill so pointed / and no - The Message at sharepoetry
This beach is red / with sand from stones as old as Earth. / Our grey sea, long ago, / washed our granite peaks into dunes / and today, / amongst its other leavings - broken shell and weed / and the casts of worms / and the remnants of shi - Global Warning at sharepoetry
It's only February, and I'm sitting / by the back door... / I look at the ruin / of what was left undone / when winter's darkness fell / and I gave up the dream / that I might help these reliable lovers / sleep comfortably; / / yesterd - I Was Going To at sharepoetry
I was trying to remember / what loving you was like... / one breath between us / star-drenched nights; / / Summer evenings at the cottage, / crickets and the moon / dinner and a glass of wine, / our candle-lit room; / / Small rustlin - You Need To Make Me Cry at sharepoetry
You need to make me cry honey/You need to make me cry - Two Hundred Men at sharepoetry
Forgive me if I fail to celebrate the majesty of Everest; / The mountain doesn't need my praise, / Has lived, will live, long after we are gone. / / So I shall ask her, ask about the ones who lost their lives / on the path to her summit, dead o - Crazy at sharepoetry
Before you / I didn't know what crazy was, / I thought it was short / for wild or cool / for someone with a spirit / too big for this world. / Just a word some fifties hipster / said in my head, / "craaazy, man, crazy," / but suddenly - The Trouble with Beauty at sharepoetry
Here’s a mystery to explore: / / Why beauty should be such a draw for ugliness. / / See how the child Madeleine / was robbed, not only of her life but of her innocence; / Months on, when she lies surely dead or worse, / it’s her curse / - Alimony at sharepoetry
Maybe i need to / lighten it up a bit; / My funnybone been / getting the worst of it. / / He done me wrong, / But I couldn't give a $@*%. / I'll write all day / and he'll have to pay for it. / / / / - So Very Proud at sharepoetry
You know, / I'm so very proud / of the achievements of my gender. / Of the scrapyard we left on the moon, / and all those cylinders / on Everest / Just dumped, so those doctors / and CEOs, those / jaded, twisted tourists / could feel har - Words written in rage at sharepoetry
Words written in rage / Are not The Truth / But they’re part of the truth, / Cries of an animal losing its life / under an avalanche ages gone, / By chance unthawed; now hear, crying, / someone dying unheeded, / drowned in the mountains, - Once at sharepoetry
Just once I'd like to feel something unmixed, / Simple. / Clear again. Ambivalence is / Here again, / My most constant friend. / It's how I know I'm getting older, / All that experience and passion / Growing colder, / Each feeling and emo - The Rule of Mark at sharepoetry
A curse, in a nursery-rhyme format. A work in progress. - Jest in time at sharepoetry
The emptiness of the Frozen Section
Stretching out like Arabia to Lawrence (of.) - On the day that we married at sharepoetry
On the day that we married
A cold wind stole between my thighs - What you did at sharepoetry
What you did hurt me / Burned me / Hot as ice / Left scars / So deep / I shall die with these unhealed / I am too old to try again / And had you taken / A blade / To my flesh / And carved your name / On my heart / You could not - Morning at sharepoetry
My mother used to rise at dawn / And put the percolator on / Thereby preserving for herself / a tiny corner of the day, / safe from the Man's demands. / / As the Sun eased away from the river / in whose arms he'd all-night lain; / As day - Who the Fuck are you? at sharepoetry
Who the Fuck are you? / / So who the fuck are you / To decide anything in my life, / Tell me what I need to know / Or what I don’t need / Who the fuck are you / When all the trust we had you’ve / Squandered like some slot-machine junkie
