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 Apr 2014 Michael Amery
Ben Jones
Nestled in a pencil case
And snuggled up in fluff
There snoozed a tiny pirate man
Of legendary stuff
He'd spied the hidden secrets
And trod the haunted shore
Blu-tack Beard the buccaneer
Scourge of the open floor

He stole a shoe-box galleon
And sailed the carpet blue
With pencil mast and paper sails
And crayons as his crew
They forayed on the crooked tiles
And crested every ridge
Blu-tack Beard the scallywag
The raider of the fridge

When moored up in the kitchen
With all his crew around
The captain showed to one and all
A treasure map he'd found
It bore a chart of distant parts
And quite a course it plot
It pointed to the bathroom lands
And tip-ex marked the spot

They crammed the hold with cornflakes
To feed them on their trip
They pulled ******* the piece of string
And weighed the paperclip
The crew they dragged their boat aloft
On neatly woven hairs
Blu-tack Beard the privateer
Surmounter of the stairs

They heaved their vessel restlessly
Atop the final brow
The crayon pirates caught their breath
And leaned against her bow
Then scaled tiny ladders
And each took to their post
Blu-tack Beard was at the helm
And watched the foreign coast

Through countless minutes voyaging
There loomed the bathroom door
They slacked the sail and went below
And each took to an oar
They pulled a mighty rhythm
Till their waxy arms were numb
And Blu-tack Beard the plunderer
Was beater of the drum

But though they pried in every nook
And each last inch of grout
They skirted round the skirting board
They tapped each silver spout
Illusive was their bounty
And they grew ever the crueller
They took their skipper angrily
And made him walk the ruler

He landed glum and ruefully
Amid the ***** socks
He heard the merry spiteful sound
Of laughing, taunting mocks
And saw the sight of mutiny
With waxen little smiles
Blu-tack Beard the cast-away
Alone among the tiles

He commandeered a washing cloth
And weaved himself a rope
He scaled the dreaded washstand
And stole a bar of soap
He carved himself a coracle
And set his sights on home
Blu-tack Beard the wanderer
Awash amid the foam

He slithered down the stairwell
And landed with a plan
For warmer climes and restfulness
A cocktail and a tan
And so he met his final port
Right then did he retire
Blu-tack Beard the pensioner
Of the warm spot near the fire
 Apr 2014 Michael Amery
SG Holter
I fear not a thing in this room; world; vast. A path as wide as Earth-
I have none other to follow. Why should
I find myself ravingly inclined to throw this bucket into the ocean,
haul it back in until my palms bleed and with the intent of an excited madman
drink it all until I regurgitate shards of broken dream, regrets and utter salt.

I have listed all my achievements, all the houses I built, all the cast-iron-flame-retardant-
bridges I sat ablaze without a shrug; floating away into the air-waving
|new-life-death-the-universe-and-everything|
fumes of a well-played Molotow Coctail. I fear not a thing in this room.
When I die, I'll rest my cranial remains on a volume of pure epicity.

Loves and lovers won and mostly lost. Victories at high and lower cost.
Faces, sounds and scenes, more wild and blinding than I'd ever seen.
I cannot see in past or future anything considered missed.
No laugh withheld, no sin I felt I needed to resist.
It's only me: Little God. And I have come here to exist.
My diary. Is my Bucket List.
 Apr 2014 Michael Amery
SG Holter
Subterranean; flowing like a constant river,
Covered in metres of memes, and hidden.

A man's tears.
Waterfalls falling behind walls of mountain's flesh.
Poetry in forbidden books piled high and burned

By censorist historians.

You pick a scortched piece of page from my footprint,
Blow on it faintly; as if dust off of leaf gold,

And read, when you think I'm not
Watching.
 Apr 2014 Michael Amery
SG Holter
When she reads, the way her
Tongue peeks out slightly
As if trying to taste the words,
Makes a full-day poem worth
Every second of dropping ink.

I love it all, she'll say.    
Even if only the first few
Lines make the side of her
Mouth curve in comprehension

The way it does when she's
Warm from being
Agreed with by whom- or
Whatever's before her.

She'll love it all, as long as I have
Words and blood in me.
She'll love it all, as long as I have ink
And we have history.

There are little diamonds
Delighting her
In the bits of white between
Every word.
Slight rewrite from first version.
Small talk, playful banter
Is this flirting?

Gentle touches, eye gazing
Is this intimacy?

Quick glances, endless chasing
Is this serious?

Truth is
I don't know

But I catch myself slightly smiling because of you.
It could happen any moment...while
Strolling in the park...or while in the church,
In a movie house...or, when riding the bus,
Or in a cab on our way home,
It could be another long night, or early morning,
Like right now......at 2:30 AM,
While lying in bed...when body and mind are both at ease,
Muscles are rested...no struggles,
When heart is stripped of its trappings and
Trimmings of false pretenses...all are put aside,
When mental reflexes and defenses are relaxed,
When mind is bare...purely reflective,
Bereft of pride that shields the true self,
Cruising along the avenues of our imagination,
Taking our time, as we meet faces,
We find ourselves in places,
Existing in a variety of scenarios,
When, suddenly,
Like a comet in the night sky,
A swift spark of an idea catches our breath...

We sit, in a hurry......before it gets blown by the wind...

The mind is now done relaxing,
When the muscles stiffen normally
When we are no longer slouching
When we see coffee on the table
Steaming hot on the ***...

Under the dark sky,
Our day has started...

It is  time,
To turn those sparks into fireworks,
To create, and touch the lives of readers
Through another day of discovery,
Guide them by sharing our own recovery,
From stumbling down, over and over,
How it is to rise from a fall...
We enlighten them with our
R E V E L A T I O N S
Of self-discovered truths,
And our very own words of wisdom...

When body and mind are up and about,
Alert........ cognizant of
Every sound, and every burst of idea,
Then we know.......what time it is,

It...is...time
To
Write.

^^^^^

Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
You're in my thoughts
And in my speech
The corners of my mouth
Upturn in the delight
Of imprint on my soul
Apart in distance
No day is ordinary
Each moment is bliss
Never let go
It's about the journey
Not the destination
We have heard the quote before
But how
Realization
Peace
Smile
Forgive yourself
Every moment is new
So take it
Create it
Choose
Whether time moves
Or stands still
Arguable
Make it amazing because
Either way
It will never come again

 Apr 2014 Michael Amery
SRS
An angel at birth
so I assume
innocent at heart
corrupted by truth

today you lay fallen
an angel in the dirt
covered by dust
lost in the earth

traveling on
with a heart full of burden
convinced your of evil
with nowhere to turn

maybe I'm wrong
to think your soul pure
but in you I see an angel
so I will fight for your cure

I've seen what you let me
and of evil your not
your simply an angel
misled for to long
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