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Oh, England,

you green and pleasant land,

your beauty never ceases to instil

a calmness in my hands.


A sense of peace; contentment

within my wandering mind,

a fulfilling feast for longing eyes

that seem always looking behind.


The golden greens of your pastures

covering long and rolling hills,

the succulent scent of your flowers

tickling senses to smile at...

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Performance (notes to my self)


Engage in preamble,

And ramble a bit until you see fit to begin.

Draw deep, close your eyes to speak.


Begin with thin withered lines,

Telling tales of times when life was worth living.

Don’t shuffle into nostalgia.

Still, throw in that line that tells how you used to be a free spirt,

Not a bogged down middle aged git

Unfit to wield a mic and talk like this,


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Also by dazzer:

Late Meetings |

Elijah The Prophet

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Elijah - the Lord of storms, 
Dew, hail, rain and thunder,
Today rides a chariot.
The Prophet with an effort
Breathe the autumn.

The days are shorter
The nights are longer
Warm days linger.
Two hours Elijah has taken.
By August He was awaken.

Water becomes overgrown
In the lakes and local ponds.
Our Lord agrees and nods, 
Summer has no more odds, 
It can't argue with Gods


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Tags: Ilijah,Lord,Sunday

Also by Larisa Rzhepishevska:

Elijah The Prophet |


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I slipped out of


When Thatcher

Digged in her heels


Ripped the heart out of my life

“Can you spare a cigarette please?”


I slipped onto this park bench

When Cameron rode into town

Guns a blazing

“I’m taking the poor down “

“Spare 50p for a can”


Spare a thought

 For those ...

Born, growing, hoping

This is a fair world


And then,


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Fresh faced, alluring,

digitally re - mastered she posed in the photo

at the platform of her trolleybus.

Grey summer uniform - clippie.

"Hold on very tight," she seemed to say.

Would that I could, but sixty years have gone their way.


I would have been a boy then,

and on a journey together

she could have taken me to paradise

for a minimal price.


A rack of tic...

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Form and function

Speaking of form and function. Helen, on here,
recently made a very respectable attempt at a
`modern` version of the Sestina. 

It caused me to look at Ezra Pound`s version of
the form for comparison. (this is it below).

A sestina is basically six stanzas of six lines each
normally followed...

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Moon washed

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Under Oaks I spent the day

Idly fiddling pen

On Weyside banks I sat and lay

Till Cathedral bells struck ten


The paling sky was silver starred

As moonlight struck its height

And patient fisher’s slipped away

All day without a bite


On the green the match was won

The scoreboard marked the runs

The victors celebrations done

By fine tradition in “The Mash Tun”...

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Tags: England

Also by David Moore:

Temper tongue | Slabs |

Two Formal Poems (re-posts)


                                        Upon the Winds of Change


Upon the winds of change our courses flew

And us across the heaving seas did send.

It mattered not what dreams each would pursue

For Fate decreed what we could not portend:

That once again our raging hearts should blend

In Youth’s enduring spirit which does flow

Between us still, steel bond of lustful f...

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end of democracy

End of democracy


I think we are witnessing a historic shift

the page has turned and our ideas about

democracy is regarded with suspicion

because it is in inclusive and give too much

freedom to the individual. This idea that

a person could have his own faith instead

of a faith that included all and those who

cannot conform must die.


This philosophy flies in the ...

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Also by jan oskar hansen :

forgotten lives |


We walked with hinged smiles

Through man-made wreckage

The clawing and pawing

The desperate howls

Explosions of remorse


Whenever they grew close

We would blend as one

Human parentheses

Afraid of their touch

Ashamed of their needs


We passed through this detritus

This Verdi-Gris whisper of humanity

Until we reached sanctuary

Free of mind and memory


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Also by Stu Buck:

Arlo #1 + #2 |

Recipes From The Happy Hippy Cook Book

A plate of scattered crumbs is set
Beside my comfy chair,
And drowsily I quite forget
Just who I am and where;
For something here is not quite right,
I feel it in my bones,
Which oddly seem so very light
For reasons unbeknown.
I find it hard to concentrate
On tasks of high demand;
My brain would like to relocate
To airy fairy land.
And as the mist descends to blur
An ever-changing sce...

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Also by Jonathan Humble:

Extreme Yorkshire Pastimes |







in boxes

these days


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Also by Colsibabes:

headshot | paperlust |

echolocate (08/01/2015)

a magazine filled with glasnost bullets;
a body drawn in dots.
a truth cut deeper and harder
stillness painted in red and black.
placidity before pain
lucidity in the rain
washing away ten thousand drops of me
all bearing my name
none bearing my face.

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Tags: wash away noir dames black and red jack and queen


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Poem 86 of 230:  ROBOTS 

In factories,
    I've spent sometime
Working machines
    Whose goods should rhyme -
Moulding machines,
    Whose plastic shots
Are sorted by

Well, now robots -
    Before ‘twas folks:
Process workers...
    Employment hoax?

(C) David Franks 2003; from - 

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I still remember the meagre collection
- shirley bassey tihuana brass neil diamond's greatest hits -
and a couple of 45s
- one of which - tommy steele's confession - we never played -

but we would stack the rest
and dance until they dropped
- then dance some more

flared trousers swinging
- the green patterned pile carpet -
and my sisters osmond lp

later I asked my mother
what she did in the sixties
and where ...

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I am Cassandra

I found out yesterday that all this time

I've wasted my focus on things I am not

For I am a poet however unorthodox and unsound

I am a poet, whether I want it or not


So yesterday I began to write

My words in short phrases and lines

I ignored punctuation and laughed at rhymes

I made a point to trust my mind


Now I know, bad poet or not, 

A poet I am for better or...

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