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Showing posts from August, 2019
To Rest In Peace They were men of the north suitably suited in black dense as new hewed coal or dark grey shiny as wet slate or, rarely, the midnight blue of a northern night sky. It was a formal occasion this laying to rest of the dull grey past known, of the bright red future hoped for. They laid them to rest with broken flowers petals crushed with ashes and dust. It was a formal occasion this laying to rest in peace or not. https://poetsrepublic.org/product/the-darg/ ‘The Darg’ brings together new work, written in English, Scots and Gaelic, by more than fifty poets in the spirit of Hamish – poet, songwriter, socialist, Fringe festival pioneer, archi…
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https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07X15JQ6G…
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Leading the Way The male will always lead, so it’s been said, a flamboyant rooster strutting his stuff while the fluffy bird-brained females dutifully follow, so it’s been said. But, we say no not here, not now. We’ll only follow where we want to go. We’ll let him stride on ahead, strutting his stuff, and make a diversion for a little of what we fancy. We’ll scratch up a juicy morsel here, reach out to catch a flighty creature there. We’ll have a nibble of this and a nibble of that. And he won’t know, he never looks back, we know so we’ll chuckle away to ourselves while he strides on alone, unknowing, strutting his stuff thinking he’s leading. We won’t be watching. We won’t be following. We’ll make out own way. We’ll stray. https://blognostics.net/blognostics-an-innovative-experience-in-literature-poetry-and-art/2019/08/26/leading-the-way-by-lynn-white/?fbclid=IwAR0R3e5m7KStsjsC8WpWy6P8IHYKliOPrHXuQ9U6bO0vhdSN2fvqab0dfTo Leading the Way by Lynn White The male will always
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The Vase The kitchen looked tired and worn like my mother did, the last time I saw her there. I felt no nostalgia for it. It was not my childhood kitchen. It held no special memories, I thought. And then, I saw the vase on the counter top. My friend found it on the Kings Road. Bought it and brought it home. I’d asked her to buy me something, a souvenir of swinging London. She bought the vase. I never much liked it. Dark and bulbous, it spent most of it’s time at my mother’s, though she didn’t like it much either. Then time stole it away, took it from my memory, erased it. And now, here it is again, sharp as ever bringing the past home as it stands empty on the counter top. It seems that her death invested in it a poignancy that it had not known before. I took it home with me. https://www.amazon.com/Epiphanies-La…/…/ref=sr_1_fkmrnull_1… About This Website AMAZON.COM Epiphanies and Late Realizations of Love All humans seek love. It is the ba
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Where Equivalence Goes To Die We soon found out that Native Americans were the bad guys. We watched the Hollywood portrayals of the cowardly braves deserving of death and the brave, honest settlers who rightly prevailed. If propaganda is successful it won’t even be recognised. And successful it was for a long time. That is not to say that all ‘indians’ were good people, that they never committed atrocities or preached hatred and abuse. But the power was so disproportionate that they could be no equivalence. The scales were already tipping over. To pretend balance was possible would be a distortion. Then there were the Nazi’s. No one now thinks that their arguments of superiority, of paranoia and racism should find an open ear. But ears were open then. Wide open. And eyes were closed to enslavement, starvation and death. That is not to say that all Jews, Slavs and gypsies were good people, that they never committed atrocities or preached hatred and abuse. But the power was so
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On A Sunny Sunday It was a sunny Sunday, a perfect day. So he dressed them in their Sunday best and they went to the park to play on the swings and roundabouts. My father. My half brother and sister on a sunny Sunday. They were surprised to meet her as they walked home. They were surprised to see that she was carrying a suitcase. They were surprised when she said goodbye. They didn’t believe it so they went home to their new council house to wait. She never came back. It had not been a happy home. She could be violent. But it was their home. She never came back. So they moved to his parents where they were only grudgingly accepted. It was not a happy move but it was the best he could do. Sometimes on a sunny Sunday she would leave the hospital, escape in search of her family. But they never found each other again. https://www.amazon.com/heat-Nightingale-Sparro…/…/ref=sr_1_2 Nightingale & Sparrow Literary Magazine is proud to present their third issue, heat. This volume feat
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COME FOR A SWIM “Come for a swim,” they said and I thought “why not?” It would be a new experience for me. I’d looked over from my field and seen the pool, seen the children laughing and splashing and moving through the water so easily. What an adventure it would be! I pushed through a gap in the fence, ran right up to the edge and jumped! I hadn’t expected to sink. The children hadn't sunk. What will happen if I go lower? Already my feet don’t touch the ground, if there is any ground under this water. “Come for a swim,” they said, I should have tried to fly I’m sure pigs can fly. https://visualverse.org/submissions/come-for-a-swim/
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Eye Contact Look at me. Hey, look at me. I’m here I’m real, a real person and I like you a lot. You’re really special. Hey look at me, look into my eyes. Look at me! How the fuck can I look at you when you keep kissing my eyes closed! https://creativetalentsunleashed.com/…/anthology-release-…/…
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This Time Before my time, they used to line the streets with the heads  of the defeated stuck on pikes, heads which rotted away in time leaving only the pikes standing empty. This time too little remains to separate heads from bodies, there’s too little left to identify the defeated. Winners and losers are all remnants in the rubble of the city. If there are survivors they could take empty helmets and set them on pikes instead. The pikes would rot away first this time. But there’s too little left and there’s no one to do it and no one left to see it this time. https://www.peachvelvetmag.com/summer-19 PEACHVELVETMAG.COM summer '19 | Peach Velvet Magazine
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A Change of Focus They were being herded now bleating pleas like the blind sheep of past times. Herded by those they’d lionised those they’d cultivated as heroes or victims now metamorphosed into triffids in khaki and all it took was a change of focus. Triffids in khaki poking and prodding. They could see them now in focus as they stumbled supported squatted sometimes bleating their pleas to the deafened. They could see now see themselves see that they’re victims of them them and their old blind sheep selves all it took was a change of focus and in a flash they’re blinded by the light. BLOGNOSTICS.NET A Change of Focus by Lynn White A Change of Focus by Lynn White They were being herded now bleating pleas like the blind sheep of past times. Herded by those they’d lionised....READ MORE