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 Nov 2014
jeffrey robin

                                                    PrttyBrd flyin with a crazy robin


He who dies before he dies ..........(?)

                                         Knows me

I seen this girl huggin this tree




I very kindly and gently said to her

WHAT THE ******* DOIN   YA CRAZY ***** !


She smiled and said





You know

They used to lynch N - - - - -S here in AMERIKKKA !

                                     ( used too ?

                                                           What da you mean

                                                                 "Used to !? " )


It's a long lonely day

Deadly in its loneliness


He who dies before he dies ..:..(?)

                                          Knows me
 Oct 2014
jeffrey robin
/    \

          ­                                       ( who ? )


sacred bodies !    ( sacred images of Man )

//     //                                    

we have learned from all our most lovely poets

That when the girl says


She is ALWAYS      So god - ****** sincere

the boy should fall to the ground in the humblest  display of gratitude

( after first pulling his pants down - of course )

And that when the boy says


he is NEVER        sincere

But is merely thinking



Then at the end she gets to show she really hates him

( which she really did from the start )

Because of some reason never articulated




What have you learned !        ?


sacred bodies!         (sacred images of Man )
 Aug 2014
Ann M Johnson
The toughest scars to heal are concealed on the inside
Would you remain in dreams
Instead of facing reality
Where the world can't touch you

The warmth of the pretence
Of how it might be
Rather than what you go through

No one can drag you away
Back down into your despair
Of the darkness of your mind

Because you can ignore it all
The growing pangs of uncertainly
Of everything you must find

So reach up to the sky
Don't throw it all away
All we can ever do is try
To live it day to day

Copyright Chris Smith
 Apr 2014
At 18 you are not who your parents perceive you to be
At 18 the mistakes you make are yours alone
At 18 you learn life's lessons can be brutal
At 18 you think a broken heart is a mortal wound
At 18 you don't know who you are
At 18 you have dreams

At 18 the world is yours
At 18 you CAN do anything
At 18 you can be who you want to be
At 18 you can make your own choices
At 18 setbacks do not defeat you
At 18 you are free

At 18 there is always time
 Mar 2014
John Ashton Upston
Superman can fly,
But I can love.

The Flash is fast,
But I can cry.

Batman always wins,
But I can lose.

The Hulk is strong,
But I am mortal.

God may be three,
But I am just one.
 Mar 2014
Know it all in theory never practiced
Waddles and quacks
Assumptions under false pretenses
Opinions often criticize
Judgments without a clue
Senseless chatter
Assless pants
Years behind
Broken spirits
Wavering faith
What is proof?
Wasted life and selfish acts
Yeah, what do you know?
 Mar 2014
David Lewis Paget
I was sent to work at the old Repat.
It was forty years since the war,
Those ancient diggers would sit and swear
At the pain of the limbs they wore,
The wounds would open as years went by,
They’d come for another slice,
That war was never over for them,
And morphine was paradise.

I saw one veteran struggle and curse
As he ripped at the buckles and straps,
The new prosthesis had rubbed him raw
As his knee began to relapse.
He tore the leg from his wounded stump
Sat on his bed, and roared,
Then swung the article over his head
And flung it across the ward.

The others had ducked as the leg took off
And bounced off the opposite wall,
‘I’ll have to report you,’ the nurse exclaimed,
‘It’s a good leg, after all!’
‘You wear it then,’ was the man’s response,
‘For it’s driving me insane,
What would you know of Flanders Fields?
You wouldn’t deal with the pain!’

My job was to settle and calm him down
So I asked him about his leg,
‘When and where did you lose it, Dig?’
The veteran tossed his head.
‘You’ve heard of a place called Flanders Fields
Where the bullets came in like hail?
Well, I was there with the Anzac’s, son,
At a place called Passchendaele.’

‘Our Generals were trying to ****** us,
I swear, on my mother’s head,
They kept on sending us over the top
Until half of the men were dead.
The German gunners would enfilade
As we struggled against the mud,
I’ll never forget the battlefield,
It was spattered with bones and blood.

They’d send artillery shells across
At the height of a soldier’s knee,
We’d watch them come as they parted the grass,
They were Grasscutters, you see!
Well, I was running with bayonet fixed
And praying for God’s good grace,
When suddenly I was lying there,
I’d tumbled, flat on my face.’

‘It’s strange that I never felt a thing,
When the Grasscutter got me,
It took a while ‘til I saw my leg
Was gone, from under the knee.
But that was the end of the war for me,
The end of the life I’d known,
I spent some time back in Blighty, then
I came on a ship, back home.’

I never chided those men in there
Though they’d curse and swear, and roar,
For every man was a hero where
They'd trudged in mud through the war.
That Repat. job was a fill-in job
And I left, still young and hale,
But I never forgot the Grasscutter
Or the man from Passchendaele.

David Lewis Paget
 Mar 2014
Right or wrong
Yes or no
Black or white
All or nothing
Drowining in darker
Shades of gray
 Mar 2014
"People change everyday
Wounds heal
But scars still remain in the same place"*

I look down
Down at those scars
Trophies, I call them
They are signs that I survived
I survived what caused them
I don't need anymore
I am satisfied with what I have
They remind me that
Nothing is worth my suffering
I keep them secret
On my thighs they hide
My quiet little Trophies
 Mar 2014
Sprung forth from wishful thinking
Overwhelm the mind
 Mar 2014
left to ponder with too much time
minutes tick by like days
and forever seems a possibility
while waiting for tomorrow
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