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 Mar 2014 Trader Tim
Sammie wells
Shining like no other
She sores the sky
Wings of fire
She comes alive

Watch how she rise

Explosion of colours
She is the horizon
The beautiful rise
Breathtaking view

She is the one and only
Bringer of morning

Blaze of fire

She is

The sun
I love watching the sunrise, everyone is like no other, but always breathtaking, beautiful
 Mar 2014 Trader Tim
Traveler
How do I become so emotionally caught up
Even by a stranger’s fleeting glance
Someone loses somebody and just that fast
I’m starry-eyed and caught in a trance

Love is fulfilling yet hardly satisfied
And hate a fire that burns you up inside
Time is the essence of what we pretend to need
Space is so endless yet only temporarily
Life makes us strive to never want to die
Death makes us hope for at least one more try

But it seems our emotions rule our existence
And to gain control we must be more consistent
Because this compassion can be such a curse
And the fruits of life can cause such a thirst
What I’m very vaguely trying to express
Is that life in general can be such a mess
 Mar 2014 Trader Tim
Wednesday
I’m sorry I haven’t thanked you for the sacrifice
I’m sorry I ruined your body at 30
I’m sorry people say we look alike

I’m sorry I hurt you
again
and again

I’m sorry for the blood in the bathtub
and the purple dye
I’m sorry for the bleach

I’m sorry for the mold
and the rot
and the court dates

I’m sorry for the failure
and the soccer games
and the hurt knees

I’m sorry I wear all black
I’m sorry I orbit you like a first born curse
I’m sorry we are both too head strong

I’m sorry I make you look bad
I’m sorry for not calling
I’m sorry for wanting to leave

I’m sorry for the smoke
I’m sorry Mom
I’m sorry for the months I wouldn’t eat

I’m sorry for the bones
I’m sorry for the lies
and the stealing and the hospital stays

I’m sorry for the time
I’m sorry you were forced to make a commitment out of me
I’m sorry I’m 17

I’m sorry I’m sad
I’m sorry for the medicine I didn’t take
I’m sorry for the car accidents and the tears on your favorite sweaters

I’m sorry it’s taken me 17 years to say this
I’m sorry I am like a stray dog
I’m sorry I make it hard to love me
 Mar 2014 Trader Tim
A
I want you
 Mar 2014 Trader Tim
A
I don't know you
But I want you.
All of you.
I want to hear your voice
Speak warm laughters
I want your hands to
Trace my geography 
To have them laced in my hair
and lock my fingers
I want your gaze
To drown me
I want the bow of you lip
To see how they pout while listening 
I want you
All of you.
 Mar 2014 Trader Tim
Nathan Box
The empire has fallen.
Olympus is on bent knee.
Stars and stripes are no longer stunning.
They are littered among the ashes of American exceptionalism.

This country was to aspire to higher ideals.
Our marble columns were not to be built on the backs of injustice.
These shores were meant to welcome the little guy in us all.
Now, they are littered among the the ashes of American excpetionalism.

Falling back to earth, this place is nothing special.
Patriots stand idle.
The name of the country is being dragged through the mud.
Dirtied by the ashes of American exceptionalism.

We are the devils we always feared.
The ones we swore to protect the world from.
Now, darkened souls torment our government's door.
Riddled by the ashes of American exceptionalism.

Is there hope? Can there be change?
Can we see the error of our ways?
Is this ship too far off course?
Are we guided by half mast American exceptionalism?
First of May.
That peach tree you planted
now blooms, flushes pink,
the cherry ones burst purple.
Umpteen types of daffodil
sprout up to gulp sunlight,
flower beds house seeds,
beans and peas in abundance
in your vegetable garden.
Plum batons of rhubarb
protrude, threaten
your little portion of Devon.
But the finest thing
is the girl, the daughter,
a great blossom skipping
from spring to summer,
beaming like a lighthouse
to guide both of you home.
Written: March 2014.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time that may or may not be part of my third-year university dissertation regarding Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes. A work in progress.
In a letter to Aurelia and Warren (SP's mother and brother) dated 1st May 1962 (a Tuesday), Hughes describes how Court Green, the home he shared with SP and their two children, now looks. The title comes from the following quote - 'Frieda, of course, is the great blossom.' (Frieda Hughes is SP and TH's daughter, born 1st April 1960. She's a successful painter, and has written several poetry collections.)
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