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chris-1
English Husband of one, father of two, sibling to three / Born in the south, married north, living in-between / Learnt a little, forgot a lot, trying to catch up / Amazingly blessed, disgracefully ungrateful / Unexpected, undeserved, joyful friend of the king
Frost that stretched your skin made you gasp And blew clouds through your hands Fire that flushed your cheeks made you sleep Yet danced wild in the glass Jazz that gathered words Made you calm And breath ever so gently outwards
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Nov 28, 2010
Nov 28, 2010 at 2:55 PM UTC
A winter's evening
Tumbleweed Ted Old John Merchant, Joan Harling Edith Smith David Wilkinson, Mike Waldron Marie Ainsworth Ruth Bell, Lucy Ritchie A list undignified by death In an instant deflated, unwound Vibrant yet now not a breath Missing, lost, not found I mourn every one of their names And all that each one implied Merely a lifetime ago They came, they lived, they died. The bluntness has ruined my mood With the arrogant stealing of life It demanded all my attention Then cynically wielded the knife I'm trying but their voices are fading As my brain's recordings wear out And the clarity of all their faces Is blurred with the pallor of doubt So all I have now are some photos Flat caricatures of their lives Each one replacing my memory With a past that cannot be revived Relentless my list will grow longer Crushing for each name a line And my heart will grow ever more heavy Till the last name that's added, is mine.
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Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 2:53 AM UTC
Missing in action
The man in the black trench coat holds a sign 'The end of the world is near' It isn't. Its closer than that. It sits on our shoulders Mocking our futility It's breath on our ears Like a man playing cards on the body of another. The man in the camel-hair coat Is a sign 'the kingdom of God is near' It is Come close he implores And rest on his shoulder Give up your futility And hear if you've ears For you can have life On the body of another
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Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 1:57 PM UTC
Purveyors of doom and hope
I want to happen with you To occupy space And time Hand in hand Arm in arm and For the bed to be warm  Because there are two I want to wear your possession Like a title An honour Hand in hand Arm in arm and For the days recounting To light our procession I want to be your heart's mender Of the cuts Of words Hand in hand Arm in arm and To point out the sunset And cover black with splendour  I want to choose you again From the crowd Of the world  Hand in hand Arm in arm and To to turn the page And keep writing your name
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Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 2:51 PM UTC
Hand in hand
The tobacco smell of your coffee Enveloped me into the house But the lazy gate of the light pull Was taunting my late awakening I listened to where your shoes passed As you wrestled them onto your feet And the crumbed remains of your lunch Scattered by milk-tipped spoons A house not a home set before me The detritus of morning routine An uneasy truce had been called Now activity distilled into peace Could I hear your echoed instructions That swept children out to the car? Or was my mind still wrapped up for transit Through a night that ended too fast?
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Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 3:35 PM UTC
Getting up late on a school day
Oh the faces of the bored Frozen blankly sleep is fought Staring vaguely at the front But dreaming soporific thought Twenty minutes 'til the coffee A bourbon or a custard cream That's if the kids don't grab them first And so we all daydream Mavis peers at her watch She nudges Joan and glances The twenty minutes now have past And forty people sit in trances But suddenly a head is raised Is this the application? That 30 second indicator We all regain sensation.
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Sep 5, 2010
Sep 5, 2010 at 1:58 PM UTC
The long sermon
To smile at the unlovely To duet with undue harmony To run when a walk would do To lift the face of the broken To put aside the important To concentrate completely To take interest in the dull To laugh with the miserable To see past the tough exterior To crawl with those that crawl To walk with the unrighteous To sprint for those that cannot stop To stop To listen To keep silent To hold To do all this And not ask, or boast, or criticise
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Aug 27, 2010
Aug 27, 2010 at 7:34 AM UTC
Dignity
The carpet was tacky, in more ways than one As I fed the machine to see if I'd won I inserted my life in its ravenous slot Thoughts, motivations, actions, the lot I pulled the lever and to my surprise Metallic applause announced a big prize Under glittering lights I fumbled around I felt for the riches I had heard abound But my winnings were not a fortune in gold Just three long nails. Hard. Rough. Cold I shuddered and turned to walk away But a voice behind me bid me to stay An attendant, dressed fully in brilliant white Appeared from nowhere and stood to my right "Can I help" he asked gently as he saw into my eyes I showed him the nails and exclaimed my surprise "It happens to everyone" he quietly said "This is always the prize for those who are dead." My blood froze and I started to stammer For as he reached out he was gripping a hammer And over his shoulder, through the open door I saw another man crouched and bruised on the floor The man in white pulled him up to his feet And I saw that his face was pale as a sheet I knew then the purpose of my cold metal prize As a dad killed his son for this lord of the flies Eternal justice said the ****** was my place But I was forgiven by astonishing grace. So what of the dad and the son that was killed? A spirit raised him in promise fulfilled Oh the father, the son and the holy ghost planned it To offer salvation from life's one armed bandit
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Aug 17, 2010
Aug 17, 2010 at 12:08 PM UTC
The one armed bandit
Written in respose to 'The Garden' by John W. **** on hellopoetry. Paradise is lost Who can restore it's splendour? Who is worthy? In frantic despair he stared A myriad faces stared back No muscle flinched No eyelid flickered Like the silence before the scream Eyes fought to make out Even the tiniest of movements Despite the massed numbers Above, below and all around The stillness was gigantic And he knew then, the end of hope The final appeal had been dismissed And cold horror wrung out the air Until the grainy finger of an old man Pointed, resolutely to the right. To a lion whose muscular frame bore a victor's wreath of torn briars; whose eyes spoke judgement and mercy. 'Ecce homo' declared the old man.
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Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 2:44 PM UTC
Ecce ****
The reflection of me in your eyes was of me laughing But the mirror ran down your face, I knew in an instant  I was wrong as I was irrelevant And you, You were you And that was enough.
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Jul 23, 2010
Jul 23, 2010 at 2:37 PM UTC
You