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  Nativity There are no Magi to adore them now, the women giving birth   in ramshackle sheds or freezing tents or in the rubble and cold and dirt of what’s left. There are no Magi to bring gifts, no shepherds to bring succour to the women giving birth   in ramshackle sheds or freezing tents or in the rubble and cold and dirt of what’s left. Maybe artists will paint the scene but I doubt it. None are needed when we can already see, when we already know and then we don’t see anymore. https://newversenews.com/
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  The Solace Of Order Joining the dots never helped me to square the circles of a world in chaos punctured by the threads of an OCD spider arranging iced biscuits tidily for tea to bring some solace and order some colour and pleasure. It’s all we can do. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CVF469HX?fbclid=IwAR0cAR7Hq9Zdzuc_3TaJwm-5sE-AfEiZNu7tpVx171ybxv3csL0NDfJQx8k
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History The romance. The wedding. The honeymoon. The loss when it’s         over                  lost                           gone. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CVF469HX?fbclid=IwAR0cAR7Hq9Zdzuc_3TaJwm-5sE-AfEiZNu7tpVx171ybxv3csL0NDfJQx8k
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  The Game It’s as if we’re playing a ghostly game of chess with just two pieces left. Two fragments of dreams. Two castles in the air, the remnants of a game where there was no winner. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CVF469HX?fbclid=IwAR0cAR7Hq9Zdzuc_3TaJwm-5sE-AfEiZNu7tpVx171ybxv3csL0NDfJQx8k
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  For Stella He wonders where she’s gone, the woman who would sit on this bench on the Heath every day singing softly sometimes singing sadly solitary. She would stretch out her arms across the back of the bench so that she filled it leaving no space for anyone else no space for him passing by so sad so lost so full of loss. He named her Stella. And now he sits there remembering her notes in his ears, her face in his head wondering where she is if she remembers him passing by. He sits there solitary sipping his tea wondering how not to forget his Stella. https://www.orenaugmountainpublishing.com/2024/02/for-stella.html
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  Sleepwalking I thought I’d been dreaming on this dark starless night with the moon on the wane. But they said it was no dream, while asleep I’d been walking sleepwalking disoriented sleepwalking somewhere some time perhaps sleepwalking into my to be lived future living but not living the dream passing the statues of my past times standing in line. Me as a child growing up growing older and older. Each one an effigy of a time my time my past time. Now, awake or asleep I’m disoriented sleepwalking into uncertainty as the full moon approaches. https://www.orenaugmountainpublishing.com/2023/10/sleepwalking.html
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  The Sad Man I take my hat off to him the sad man of the leafy suburbs always smartly dressed dapper old fashioned smart carrying all our problems with all his silent grief on pinstriped shoulders. We all took our hats off to him that sad man, as we played in the streets as we grew older as we changed while he stayed the same still silent still carrying all those problems all that grief that we never understood. https://www.orenaugmountainpublishing.com/2023/10/the-sad-man.html