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15.6k · Jun 2015
bones Jun 2015
She leaves me
with secret flowers

each has
a broken heart

and purple petals
for me to hide

and memories
I can't ....
12.0k · Oct 2014
Alphabet artist.
bones Oct 2014
She's an alphabet artist
she paints in words,

from a palette of adjectives,
nouns and verbs,

the landscape she finds
in the folds of her mind

she exhibits in volumes of verse.
11.1k · Jan 2015
bones Jan 2015
We danced toward
each other's wounds

with gentle step
and touched inside

and now the bleeding
has resumed

and all this blood
is hard to hide.
7.8k · Jan 2016
Before she sleeps.
bones Jan 2016
She opens a window
and hopes for the sky
to fall in from outside
and it's tailwind bring

her the moon and the clouds
lined with silver, a crowd
of the finest of stars
and a spare pair of wings..
7.0k · Dec 2016
bones Dec 2016
Lonely, like the ancient ocean
flooding fast upon the sand

past a fading line of footprints,
ankle deep in surf she stands

casting wishes on the water
like a sprinkling of snow,

light they land but moments after,
melt into the waves, and go..
6.2k · Jul 2014
I Cannot Write
bones Jul 2014
I cannot write
I cannot find
behind the creases
of my mind
the words to fill
another line,
those words wait
out of sight
for now I
cannot write.
** hum
4.5k · Feb 2016
bones Feb 2016
Falling leaves hurry to gather
at one worn headstone after another
like a funeral party uncertain where
lies the lost loved one it grieves;;

Time and wind tug on the memory
left in this absent minded cemetery
no one comes visit but weather and me
and the dead lying under the trees

have stories nobody can read.
4.5k · Mar 2017
Silver stream
bones Mar 2017
She loosens on tiptoe
the latch of her window,

slides upward the sash
and the shine of the moon

pours over the sill,
like it's rushing downhill

like a silver stream,
flooding her room.
4.3k · Feb 2016
Early learning..
bones Feb 2016
Blowing silence
like a bugle
to announce his dismay

he got set
to make a statement
without speaking for a day

but his mother
just assuming
he had nothing much to say

sent her silent
son outside to play;

in the kitchen
by his mother's disregard

for campaigns
of wild muteness,
the rebellion fell apart

to the sound
of scuffing shoes
and the grumble in his heart

'cause silent protest
tends to lose
when no-one's listening very hard..
4.0k · Jun 2014
bones Jun 2014
3.7k · Jan 2016
Moonlight robbery..
bones Jan 2016
I once found the moon in a forest
of fir two hundred foot tall,
it's face being lovingly polished
by fish in a silver pool,

the water was deep like a riddle,
as dark underneath as the pine,
I swam like a thief to the middle
but that slippery silver
                        refused to be mine.
3.2k · May 2015
Missing Person...
bones May 2015
Wherever I walk
always there is an absence
walking beside me..
3.0k · Mar 2016
Passing by..
bones Mar 2016
Easy flow the waters
of the river passing by,

though we straighten them with walls
and narrow them in time,

and lace them up with bridges
to bind them where they lay,

still the waters, like a lifetime,
slip their bonds and pass away..
2.8k · Jul 2016
Gladly will I wait..
bones Jul 2016
Death stirs all ways like the wind
like something getting up to go,

and like the wind death doesn't
leave anywhere alone,

but where it is he travels with
whoever take his guiding hand,

gladly will I wait until
                     I die to understand ..
2.5k · Jan 2017
Get off..
bones Jan 2017
There was an old world
that turned on it's head,

and shivered and quivered
and shook out the dead,

and shook off the living
and all of their stuff

til' all there was left
it considered enough,

and all there was left
was a world upsidedown,

and wind and whatever
had roots in the ground,

and fish with a warning
to stay where they be,

down under the waves
of the quivering sea.
2.5k · Dec 2014
bones Dec 2014
I have an irregular heartbeat
that ever so easily trips
head over heels and breathless at
the thought of your thighs and my hips;

I have an irregular heartbeat
I worry will run out of luck
and trip and stay breathless forever
before we are able to f...
2.5k · Dec 2014
bones Dec 2014
of all
is the
display of
sculpted stone
that never
and only
after the
seeds of war
are sown
2.5k · May 2014
Very small acts of rebellion
bones May 2014
Next time
you find yourself
standing in line
think a little differently
step sideways
or back
and commit a very small act of rebellion


not when queuing
at a supermarket checkout
if your hungry

and not
whilst waiting
at passport border control
as trigger fingers may start to twitch

and it would be best
to avoid doing so altogether
at a public ******
where stepping sideways
or back
can be a risky business
even with the place to yourself

on reflection it appears
there is a time
and a place
for everything
very small acts of rebellion

it ought to be said

a rebellion
that knows no hunger

a rebellion
that challenges neither borders
or control

a rebellion
that overly concerns itself with
******* in the designated area

has probably
missed the point.
excuse the ramble
Ive been eating a lot of cheese
2.3k · Oct 2015
Waiting for the sea...
bones Oct 2015
Waiting for the sea she sits
writing with her fingertips
setting down herstory on the sand;

waiting, with a wistful eye
watching for the rising tide
wondering if stories can be drowned..
2.2k · Dec 2015
bones Dec 2015
There's folk on the news
on the tele tonight
and all of them
making me sad,

they're all of them
thumping on tubs tonight
and waving
American flags,

and it's not so much
the waving I mind,
or the sound
of tubs being thumped,

it's more the thought
that human kind
will thump them
for someone like Trump..
2.2k · Oct 2014
Fifteen Limericks.
bones Oct 2014
......Breathing Space......
She left when she realised he
Was closing more doors than agreed
When he asked her for why
She said look at that sky
That's the breathing space my lifetime needs.

When they're finally free of their chain
And falling about you like rain
Don't be wasting concern
On a fear they will burn
They might not fall your way again.

......Next door's cat......
There's an old man next door in the flat
He shares with his skinny pet cat
Whilst nobody here
Has seen him this year
His cat's grown disturbingly fat.

Some people are popular folk
But none quite so much as the bloke
Who waits in the park
Each day after dark
Selling sweet smelling clouds of blue smoke.

......Dead Fred......
The problem with my Uncle Fred
Is he keeps coming back from the dead
'It's a bit ****** cold
Down in that hole
Stop putting me back' he said.

......Reverend Ted......
The problem with Reverend Ted
Is he keeps rising up from the dead
'Heaven and Hell
are all very well
but I'd rather be home' he said

He was just building up to a scream
When his head fell apart at the seams
Days at a time
He had lost to that rhyme
Now he'll never find out what it means.

......Madman with gun......
I once knew a man with a gun
That he aimed everyday at the sun
As it sank to the ground
He fired off a round
And went to bed thinking he'd won.

......Madness pt2.....
The last man alive raised his gun
and declared open war on the sun
as it sank to the ground
he put the last round
through his head convinced he had won.

The night the moon started to drip
A silver drop fell from it's tip
And carved in the dark
The sweep of an arc
So fine we thought heaven had split.

......Holidays on the moon......
We holiday each year in June
On the back of a crescent moon
In a house made of cheese
Where you eat what you please
Last year I ate the front room.

Ever since the day of my birth
I've been jumping for all that I'm worth
It's jolly bad luck
That gravity *****
When you're trying to leave planet Earth.

I've been asking directions to Venus
And it seems that the space in between us
Is an awful long way
So I'm leaving today
On a rocket that's shaped like a frankfurter.

......Martin's Limericks......
With a limit of only five lines
The first two of which have to rhyme
With the one at the end
Martin my friend
You nail it every time.

......My Poor Limerick......
From an ivory tower of prose
It's a long way to look down your nose
At my poor limerick
That you'd beat with a stick
If you could without creasing your clothes.
Thought I'd lump them all together, you might have seen a couple before...Sorry if so.
Thank you Martin and thank you Kalypso for your company :o)
2.1k · Dec 2015
bones Dec 2015
And who then would have told  
of this end anyway ?
Not you, you leapt first and furthest
always, and recklessly that last time;

few enough I think remember now,
but I knew you when
we were skywide open and
kin to the blowing wind;

we were brothers you and I,
two of a different kind, we ran
and we jumped like suicides, leaving
dust trails like others leave wealth,

there were days I believed
boxes were built only to be
strung together as freight trains,  
god knows we rode all those that were;

but lately I see them used
by people frightened of
freedom also, for to
hide their worried lives inside...
2.0k · Feb 2016
Too thin..
bones Feb 2016
She reaches on tip toe
through windows and tries
to take hold of the outside
and gather it in,

for to feel the wind
and the pull of the tides
on the shrinking inside
of a life growing thin..
2.0k · Jun 2014
The girl on the swing.
bones Jun 2014
The rush
of the wind
stretched her face
in a smile
as the girl
on the swing
closed her eyes
for a while
and started
to sing
softly the verse
that she learned
the first time
she had
flown with
the birds.

The girl
on the swing
reached out
with her toes
for the
wide open sky
above and below
the birds
that had
taught her
the words
of their song
'Its time to let go'
so she did
and was
The rush
of the wind
on her face
made her smile
and the girl
on the swing
closed her eyes
for a while
then she
started to sing
softly the verse
she had learned
the first time
she had flown
with the birds;
the girl
on the swing
reached out
with her toes
for the wide
open sky
whilst above
and below
all the birds
that had taught
her the words
of their song
said 'it's time to let go'
so she did and was gone..
bones Sep 2015
On the day
she turned to dust
she asked the wind
to be her friend
and it picked her up
and ran her
through the fingers
of it's hands
and it poured her
into pockets
and whispered
to hold on
and before the
church had emptied
they were gone..
2.0k · Mar 2015
Mad Bob (limerick)
bones Mar 2015
I once had a friend called Mad Bob
who thought being a door was his job
he was perfectly hung
and disarmingly swung
with a sigh when you handled his ****.
1.9k · Aug 2015
It's getting late..
bones Aug 2015
Is this as good as it gets?   'cause
I'm feeling a little bit tricked,
I'm feeling a little bit foolish like
my dream's had it's pockets picked,
I've been waiting to see
if the hands of Fate
have slipped me a hand
that's not mine,
but it's getting late
and while I've been waiting
she's robbed me of all of my time,
my time,
Fate's robbing me all of the time..
1.9k · Mar 2016
The girl on the beach..
bones Mar 2016
Down by the sea
where the marram grass grows
there's a ******* the beach
in a rusting boat
with a tablecloth sail
and it's rudder broke
and her eyes are an ocean wide..
1.9k · Dec 2015
Where are the words ?
bones Dec 2015
Where are the words, the ones with sparks
to set a fire in wooden hearts
and set to work my wooden tongue
with all the wit that they impart ?

where do those words that all belong
in works of poetry come from ?
I know them only as the guests
that visit me by book and song;

my own words bear the awkwardness
of someone starting to undress
with clumsy thumbs and wooden hands
and should perhaps stay unexpressed..
1.9k · Nov 2016
bones Nov 2016
On the first hour of my first day
in the front trench I fell;

'Get up,' bawled Sergeant Major,
'and stand eye to eye with hell,

and look ye on the plucky dead
whose chests swell out with pride';

but t'was the rats that swelled them
as they plucked them from inside..
I wondered if I borrowed a line of poetry whether words of my own might follow after, the borrowed line is Mr Kipling's, from Epitaphs of the war 1914-1918..
1.9k · Jan 2017
My first day in school
bones Jan 2017
Somebody bundled
it into a clock
and slung it up high on a wall,

with numbers
like bars between us,
where there had been nothing before;

my days had come open,
open and endless like sky,

but boxed on the wall
there looked no room for all
of the rest of my lifetime and I.
1.9k · Mar 2017
bones Mar 2017
When this skin
was young and ironed,
well it fit,
like new things do;

that was then
but now I find
the cracks within
are showing through.
1.8k · Feb 2015
bones Feb 2015
There's a forest
inside her
as thick as
the night
and no-one
to guide her
and no
guiding light
to remind her
that just
out of sight
is a path
she could make
of her own
so she waits
and she ages
like stone...
1.8k · Jun 2016
Louis MacNeice (1907-1963)
bones Jun 2016
The Slow Starter (1958) - poem by Louis Macneice.

A watched clock never moves, they said;
Leave it alone and you'll grow up.
Nor will the sulking holiday train
Start sooner if you stamp your feet.
  He left the clock to go its way;
  The whistle blew, the train went gay.

Do not press me so, she said;
Leave me alone and I will write
But not just yet, I am sure you know
The problem. Do not count the days.
  He left the calender alone;
  The postman knocked, no letter came.

O never force the pace, they said;
Leave it alone, you have lots of time,
Your kind of work is none the worse
For slow maturing. Do not rush.
  He took their tip, he took his time,
  And found his time and talent gone.

Oh you have had your chance, it said;
Left it alone and it was one.
Who said a watched clock never moves?
Look at it now. Your chance was I.
  He turned and saw the accusing clock
  Race like a torrent round a rock.

Louis Macneice
I looked for Louis MacNeice on HP but couldn't find him, so have posted some of his poetry in case someone else comes looking too..
1.8k · Sep 2015
Let's dance..
bones Sep 2015
Let's dance the next dance
like it's the last dance,
like we know
that it's our last chance
to dance and when
the band begin to slow
hold me like smoke,
there is a flame inside my soul
burning the dancefloor,
let's dance before it goes...
... out.
1.8k · Feb 2015
bones Feb 2015
she carries
her stark
in finely
spun verse;
but sharp
are the
scars that
push their
way through
her fragile
of words.
bones Dec 2014
Please will
you pull
all my poems
whichever way
you think
is best
I don't care
if you pull
at them gently
or hard
I just
want to be
1.8k · Mar 2015
bones Mar 2015
A ***
is left
dry and
(thank you le comps)
1.8k · Oct 2015
bones Oct 2015
I dread the sound of its passing
and the call of its merry chime
on the hour every day
the price that I pay
for life is a fear of time...
1.7k · Jan 2016
The end of an affair..
bones Jan 2016
That was the end
of her holy affair,

when she knelt, out of habit
and felt fresh air

finding the gaps
where her gods once were

like light finds the edge of a door
when it's not shut so tight as before..
1.7k · Dec 2014
bones Dec 2014
Yes I remember
that night
in midwinter,
the one
that we burned
on the hill,
and the moon
and the stars
and the
somersault sparks
and wanting
it all
to stay still,
and yes I remember
the warmth
of the embers
and daring
the future
with hope
at the
very same time
your fingers
touched mine
as softly as if
they were smoke.
1.7k · Jun 2015
Pale shades of pastel..
bones Jun 2015
If some day
I should pass you
clothed in shades
of pale pastel

all I ask
is turn your face
from my failing
sense of taste...
I have an age old dread
of an old age dress sense..
1.7k · Oct 2014
End of a dry spell
bones Oct 2014
Missing words
softly surge
through her silence
like long
soothing fingers
of whispering
that soak
their way in
through her bare
thirsty skin
not a dry moment
1.6k · Mar 2015
Maurice and Doris (limerick)
bones Mar 2015
My green fingered great uncle Maurice
ran away with a stripper called Doris
she takes off her clothes
wherever she goes
and she's got ***** hair like a forest.
1.6k · Jun 2014
Green shoots of recovery
bones Jun 2014
Something made me smile
as I passed the place today
where the beech nuts used to pile
and the squirrels used to play
and the workman with the frown
that is sawn into his face
came to take the old tree down
and leave a raw and empty place.

'Let her be a wooden tombstone,
she was getting out of hand'
declared a rubber stamped official
but he didn't understand
that all her strength was in her roots
and her roots were all still there
and today I smiled and watched
her raise ******* in the air.
AKA Tree tells mankind to f**k off.
1.6k · Jun 2016
Louis MacNeice (1907-1963)
bones Jun 2016
Carrickfergus (1937) - poem by Louis Macneice.

I was born in Belfast between the mountain and the gantries
To the hooting of lost sirens and the clang of trams;
Thence to Smoky Carrick in County Antrim
Where the bottle-neck harbour collects the mud which jams

The little boats beneath the Norman castle,
The pier shining with lumps of crystal salt;
The Scotch quarter was a line of residential houses
But the Irish quarter was a slum for the blind and halt.

The brook ran yellow from the factory stinking of chlorine,
The yarn mill called it's funeral cry at noon;
Our lights looked over the lough to the lights of Bangor
Under the peacock aura of a drowning moon.

The Norman walled this town against the country
To stop his ears to the yelping of his slave
And built a church in the form of a cross but denoting
The list of Christ on the cross in the angle of the nave.

I was the rectors son, born to the Anglican order,
Banned for ever from the candles of the Irish poor;
The Chichesters knelt in marble at the end of a transept
With ruffs about their necks, their portion sure.

The war came and a huge camp of soldiers
Grew from the ground in sight of our house with long
Dummies hanging from gibbets for bayonet practice
And the sentry's challenge echoing all day long;

A Yorkshire terrier ran in and out by the gate-lodge
Barred to civilians, yapping as if taking affront;
Marching at ease and singing 'Who Killed **** Robin?'
The troops went out by the lodge and off to the Front.

The steamer was camouflaged that took me to England-
Sweat and khaki in the Carlisle train;
I thought that the war would last for ever and sugar
be always rationed and that never again

Would the weekly papers not have photos of sandbags
And my governess not make bandages from moss
And people not have maps above the fireplace
With flags on pins moving across and across-

Across the hawthorn hedge the noise of bugles,
Flares across the night,
Somewhere on the lough was a prison ship for Germans,
A cage across their sight.

I went to school in Dorset, the world of parents
Contracted into a puppet world of sons
Far from the mill girls, the smell of porter, the salt-mines
And the soldiers with their guns.

Louis Macneice
I looked for Louis MacNeice on HP but couldn't find him, so have posted some of his poetry in case someone else comes looking too..
1.6k · May 2015
Windy day..
bones May 2015
Trees curl their toes
holding tight
the shifting fields
of yellow grain,
thin air roars
like an avalanche  
through the branches
and a family of rooks
tilt forward like
skiers on the piste...
1.5k · Jul 2015
She smashes windows
bones Jul 2015
She smashes windows

and watches them fly

like tiny glass birds

and now and again

she likes to smash mirrors

that capture her eye

to see if she flies

the same...
1.5k · Sep 2014
bones Sep 2014
The last man alive
raised his gun
and emptied it
into the sun
as it sank
out of sight
left alone
in the night
he couldn't decide
what he'd won.
what will we do when
there is nothing left to ****
and nothing left to die for?
1.5k · Mar 2015
bones Mar 2015
she leaves
on a page,
all her sorrow,
her love
and her rage,
and I truly believe
she will write
herself free
of the jailers
who fastened
her cage.
she lives
inside out
on the page

in secret
but one of  
these days

I truly believe
her words
will be keys

that pull back
the bolts
of her cage.
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