People die for what they say - a sacrifice
I would say.
Promises unfulfilled in darkrooms
my pen massages,
carefully and lovingly
the waiting page.
She is everywoman: sacrifice, laughter, death.
U kip I kip we all kip
running saved her life
she is all giving
the painting of the dog, howling
she is all-giving, all-taking, all-lov...
Monday 13th October 2014 11:11 pm
Tags: collage poem,october,sacrifice,stockport WoL
Wonderful woman lost in her mirror,
worn subject of a Swiss dream
cobbled on the back
of the toilet door.
observe their image
fragile; a subtle glance.
The river wild, the river loved, the river mild.
History, life, rivalry
my eyes were filled with tears
from the sight
to play by Petrarch's rules the Bard foreswore
Monday 8th September 2014 9:45 pm
Tags: collage poem,Stockport WOL
Strangled thoughts inside and out,
Lost chances rust in lonely sidings.
Tailor driven across hope
buried deep under steelworks
strangled in lies
hope made of granite
and reinforced steel.
The tosser on the dance floor
Throw him into an IT grave.
Once you get used to something, your
imagination loses its mind, use your
imagination and look at som...
Wednesday 13th August 2014 4:41 pm
Tags: collage poem,Purple poo,Stockport WOL
Blood on flashing dancefloors;
towards the courts of monochrome
our killer slouches home.
Time is running out, I'm suddenly aware
and the poetry flows -
and so it goes...
The beauty of grit is retrospective.
Strawberry juice on chin
swallowed in one breath
over a mis-shaped tattoo
Tattoos last longer than love;
ink is the blue kiss of death...
Tuesday 15th July 2014 6:08 pm
Tags: collage poem,grit
Bardic warriors in the worn tartan
of Christie Cleek declaim
their savage lines:
It's never too late to be early
and catch the wind
Taxed to death
the mirror whispers a thousand words
we seldom notice
Stuffy, smoky stifling atmosphere
of shouting people:
What do they put in our beer?
Stop killing our world -
and don't be late!
Monday 10th February 2014 10:09 pm
Tags: Collage Poem,Stockport WOL
Mothers of sons dream troubled dreams
of blowing leaves and anniversaries.
Give me an energetic brush every time
it smells like winter, trees sigh softly
and nature floats my boat. Red and gold
leaves scurry along in the force
the pungence of words strong enough
to sting the nostrils, sweet enough
to bless the ears
glamour in fleece and recognition...
Monday 13th January 2014 9:57 pm
Tags: Collage Poem,January Collage poem,Stockport WOL
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