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Showing posts from August, 2018
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Where Is My Place I creased the page to mark my place, but when I returned the fold had disappeared and I was unsure, unsure if I had found it. I scratched my head and pondered, was it really my place, the place I’d once inhabited in times past. It didn’t seem quite right. Perhaps I’d moved on too quickly, turned over two pages instead of one. Perhaps I should go back, retrace my steps rethink where I should be. Rethink where I should look. Rethink where I should look to find my place. https://creativetalentsunleashed.com/2018/06/17/anthology-release-essential-existentialism-the-meaning-of-life/
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All of a Flutter Here I come all of a flutter, a flapping frenzy of feathers determined to find a space in the cooing crowd. A space that fits me. A space befitting a bird of a feather. And now I’m ready, red legged and pigeon toed ready to strut my stuff with the rest. We’ll take those tasty tourist titbits with a bow here, and a coo there. We’re their strutting stars shining iridescently making their day until our finale when we rise up as one, all of a flutter, a flapping fluttering frenzy ready for the next audience. https://blognostics.net/…/11/all-of-a-flutter-by-lynn-white/ https://blognostics.net/blognostics-an-innovative-experience-in-literature-poetry-and-art/2018/08/11/all-of-a-flutter-by-lynn-white/ BLOGNOSTICS.NET All of a Flutter by Lynn White All of a Flutter by Lynn White Here I come all of a flutter, a flapping frenzy of feathers determined to find a space in the cooing crowd. A space that fits me....READ MOR
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Summer in Gaza In the rain of the rockets there’s no water. Metal rain. In the rain of the rockets there’s no sunshine. Smoke rain. Black rain. In the rain of the rockets there’s no life. Death rain. Life ending rain. Death without life rain. In the rain of the rockets there’s no hope. Deaf rain. Deaf rain. Deaf rain. Death rain. SPILLWORDS.COM Summer In Gaza, written by Lynn White at Spillwords.com Spillwords.com  presents: Summer In Gaza by Lynn White, who lives in North Wales. Her writing is influenced by issues of social injustice ...
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http://beakful.blogspot.com/2018/…/veiled-by-lynn-white.html
The Hedgerow Fairies Where have they gone, the hedgerow fairies in their harebell hats? I used to see them sitting under their leafy roofs stitching their summer dresses of poppy and mallow petals with long silk threads catching the summer sunlight as the smiling spiders spun. I miss them so, the hedgerow fairies in their harebell hats. I used to see them collecting armfuls of meadow sweet to stuff their nighttime mattresses, making doorways in their new toadstool homes with sharp stones. Maybe they’ve gone underground to escape the passing cars and tractors. Maybe they only come out at night now and stitch and stuff under the moonlight. I don’t know. But I miss them so, the hedgerow fairies in their harebell hats. http://www.lulu.com/…/the-a…/paperback/product-23529738.html LULU.COM The Aquillrelle Wall of Poetry, book seven by Aquillrelle (Paperback) - Lulu Buy The Aquillrelle Wall of Poetry, book seven by Aquillrelle
Into The Light I’m living through the time of night without end. The time when everywhere is transformed into the underworld. When everywhere is transformed into that dark place, deathly dark. Only the dark gods and the creatures of death can live there, those who need no further sustenance, who gave up on the light above. I won’t give up. I’m ready for the birth of a new day. Ready for a pink dawn to rise and break full of possibilities, as the light takes over from the dark and the day is born again. I shall follow the road towards the light, and leave the dark behind, again. But I have found that the dark always follows. Catches up with me, as if it were the past. If I hurry maybe I’ll escape it this time. Maybe I’ll catch the light and hold on to it and not let it break again. http://www.lulu.com/…/night…/paperback/product-23712552.html
Dream Catchers These hairy, feathery, stringy things are supposed to catch my dreams, but I don’t believe it. I’ve hung them above my bed and inspected them carefully in the morning but I’ve never found a dream caught in them, Not even a tiny dreamlet. No, they’re just a trick, a deception, to make me feel I can capture them and relive them when I want to. But I can’t. No one can ever go back to a dream. https://www.etsy.com/shop/bluehourpress
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I’ll Climb Alone I’m strong enough now to climb alone. I won’t allow the creepers and crawlers and climbers to hold me back, to inch into me like ivy covering a wall. I’ll climb alone. Go straight up the bleached white staircase shining through the undergrowth showing me the way up and over. Quickly now before it encroaches, before it overwhelms me. Up and over. I know I can do it. I’m strong enough now. http://withpaintedwords.com/view_submission.php?news_id=1278 https://www.withpaintedwords.com/view_submission.php?news_id=1278
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My Sister Maud I had a sister once. Her name was Maud. I never knew her, never even knew of her. No one said. Not our father, or his son, not my mother, no one. No one spoke. All were mute for Maud. She never grew old, never even grew up. And her little life became engulfed in silence. My father cried when she died, I know it now more than eighty years later I know it. When there’s no one living who knew her. When there is no one left to tell me her favourite games, her hopes, her dreams. All are gone. I know it now. I even have a photograph so that I can see her, picture her as she was. And I won’t forget her, won’t forget that I had a sister once. Her name was Maud. https://blueheronreview.com/blue-heron-review-issue-10-sum…/ https://blueheronreview.com/blue-heron-review-issue-10-summer-2018/
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Passion in Place Passion led us here and we thought we would stay. Our kind of place to love with a passion. And we stayed. And we stayed with our passion. And then passion took us away. https://www.amazon.com/dp/1722360984/ref=sr_1_2… https://www.amazon.com/dp/1722360984/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1534255651&sr=1-2&refinements=p_27%3ASoodabeh+Saeidnia AMAZON.COM Persian Sugar in English Tea (Vol III): The Bilingual Anthology of Contemporary Love Poems (Volume 3) The present book is the third volume of the bilingual series of poetry collection, Persian Sugar in English Tea. The anthology includes short poems, micro-poetry and haiku by 59 new and well-accomplished poets from Canada, USA, UK, Ireland, India, and other Asian, Middle Eastern and European coun...
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Rock Star He looked mean and sullen. Perhaps he thought it befitted his rock star image. Or perhaps he thought it would distract from the acne, which was a bit of a shock, to be honest. He looked too ordinary to set any teen’s heart throbbing. But he wrote “To Vicky” and signed his name, which would have been fine apart from the dribble of ink down the front of her dress, her favourite pale orange shirt-waister, saved up for from her mum’s Gratton catalogue. He must have noticed, surely. “Look what tha’s done”, she said showing him the damage. He gazed sullenly at the floor. He may have been a rock star but he had acne and a leaky pen, and the damage should be acknowledged. “Look what tha’s done”, she said more loudly, only to still be ignored by the rock star with the acne and the leaky pen. So she followed him round the room warning everyone of the hazard. He may have been a rock star but he had acne, really bad acne and a leaky pen and he really was mea
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Paradise Lost It was paradise, a perfect life in the sunshine for the two of them. Eating the luscious fruits, drinking the succulent juices. Wanting for nothing. Nothing, except, perhaps, to know the reason for it all. To know where they came from, where they were going, what point there was to it all. To understand it all would take some thought, some working out, some researching of their paradise. They would need to exercise their intelligence to find the answers to all these questions. Then they could be content again in their paradise with their new found knowledge. It came to them suddenly, the penny dropped not the apple. In a flash of understanding they saw that tomorrow could be different That one tomorrow would certainly be different. That human life doesn't go on and on without an end. It will end and it's ending is unpredictable, the where and how and when unknown. How could they live with this knowle
Just Hair First came the flowers, then the song. Then, in time many songs of hope and love and peace becoming intertwined in Hair. A revolution. Time passed. Then came the spikes and streaks and shaves of grungy aggression and despair. A revolution. Time passed. Now there’s a medley of coloured words. The dark and bright past intertwined. Revolutions dying and being born. Pasts intertwined in the words and in the hair. http://voxpoetica.com/just-hair/ http://voxpoetica.com/just-hair/?fbclid=IwAR0735fHOD_ZQ6Nnj7TB3bOeX5VnTOwgjIfwhJ7r_Bs8OYKz4FWOrnwT_tA
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Face Space Sometimes he felt like a man with no face, his face space occupied by a swirling mist of confusion. So he had to wait for it to settle down to see what emerged, what to find his face for today. Sometimes it was exciting, but only sometimes. Sometimes he wished for a blank space that he could fill himself with a Magritte apple. Or maybe a luscious peach would be self fulfilling. Sometimes he wished he could wear the same face every day, wake up with it in place and know it would stay, know what he would be every day. https://visualverse.org/submissions/face-space/ https://visualverse.org/submissions/face-space/?fbclid=IwAR1o9jpYV2tcZd4mn65vELygsYvvt02FVyn6WWtyR2Xw5bJs3ulVD7RAHSQ VISUALVERSE.ORG Face Space - Visual Verse Visual Verse: An Anthology of Art and Words One image, one hour, 50-500 words. The picture is the starting point, the text is up to you.