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 Feb 2017 Clare Coffey
Torin
blonde
 Feb 2017 Clare Coffey
Torin
With my destruction
Once the boral terracotta
Sinks below the the rising sea

My roots have known
Long before the leaves
There is no sun left for me

And blonde is the only color I see
Not these black and starving nights
Not these screaming banshees white

Halfway inbetween
Cantilever bridge
When I want to turn back

My eyes have known
Only a little of the light
The morning brings

When I'm cured of my disease
I no longer need to fight
And blonde is the only color
Never trust the establishment
They do not exist for our benefit
For they believe  that we exist
For their convenience
Their only purpose is self-perpetuation
And they think that our only function
Is to accommodate that purpose
Whereas our true cause should be
To get rid of the *******

                                        By Phil Roberts
 Feb 2017 Clare Coffey
Torin
I want to come heavy
I want the weight of my world to land blissful
I want the dreams that I hold dear
To be caught between her brow
Her forehead

And age
We leave the age of reason
This world we know is growing old
I wasn't young

I wasn't perfect

I want to come perfect
I want the ending to be the beginning
I want the feeling that I give
To be stuck upon her brow
Her face

Her mind
Where its never the age of reason
And everything has its excuses
I wasn't young

I wasn't young
 Feb 2017 Clare Coffey
Fay Slimm
As each ebbing tide seaward out-pours
to leave its remembrance
on sand's empty spaces,
as the breakers slip back to clasp shores
before again parting
my thoughts turn to gone embraces.

As life's rollers drag me, heedlessly
back thru' tears unforeseen
where no dry eye ever dwells
on-moving tides bring me no release  
for I see now with regret,

that we had no time for farewells.
 Feb 2017 Clare Coffey
Traveler
Who dare goes there
Mere human
Who dare dream
The dreams
Of the races
That came before
All loose life forms
Free to explore
Every mind
An open door
Every spark of light
Cries out for more
Who dare explore
Beyond the human core?
Traveler Tim
My pocket poems
Isn’t worth much dowry
However, it’s all mine
Like nickel and dimes
Silver, or gold.
Tell out, my soul, to the world
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