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 Aug 2016 taia
Sofia
to live in twos
 Aug 2016 taia
Sofia
life always came in twos
two hands, two feet, two eyes
two lovers, two houses, no home
let's call this divinity in its purest sense
two wooden deities to come home to
two cathedrals to worship
a father in one, a savior in the other
let's call this a crusade
let's burn all inhibitions
and set the world as it should be on fire
let's call this a calamity
when the ceiling leaks from summer rain
let's seek refuge in the walls of another
let's live in twos
let's call this fate
let's call being torn - destiny
let's call this drought a blessing
let's love backwards in between
abandoned castles and rotten citadels
let's call living between two creators
the natural order of the world as we know it
let's look to where the sun rises and sun sets
let's forgive the world for being in twos
let's forgive this covenant
and make one of our own
let us accept this cosmic symmetry
we are not halves but whole too.
written for/during creative writing class, based on the painting "christina's world" by andrew wyeth.
 Aug 2016 taia
Genevieve
I look up at the stars


And I see you.
 Aug 2016 taia
gray rain
I miss the bright blue hair that doesn't stand out.
I miss the croaky voices when we all decided to shout.
I miss the midnight raves in all of their madness.
I miss the people being free and just pure happiness.
I miss just the people and how amazing they are.
I miss the walk to the village 'cause we're all too young to drive a car.
I miss the henna on my arms which instantly washed away.
I miss the pride march and queer disco all of which were pretty ******* gay.
I miss the ****** baloons 'cause why the **** not.
I miss the one ******* girl who I didn't tell was hot.
I miss the political jokes and the question time Q&A.;
I miss the jokes about consent and the woodcraft way.
I miss the workshops on politics, on science, on the war (against fracking).
I miss everything including the café and folk suply store.
V Camp finished today and I miss it already.
 Aug 2016 taia
Keith Wilson
Passed  a  neglected  garden  of  late.
It  seemed  in  quite  a ­­ sorry  state.
Some  men  came  to  make  some  notes.
But  seem­ed  to  give  it  little  thought.
Up  on  high  the  grasses  gr­ow.
Beneath  the  windows  row  by  row.
The  other  plants  just­ ­ cry  with  pain.
I  guess  we'll  never  grow  again.
They  ha­ve­  taken  up  our  space  on  the  ground
Like  an  advancing  ­army  I'll  be  bound.
They  are  taking  our  water  Oh  my.
As ­ they  journey  to  the  sky.
Perhaps  it  soon will  be  resolved.­
And  peace  will  reign.
Once again

Keith  Wilson    Windermere.  UK.  2016­.
Some revisons
 Aug 2016 taia
Dave Williams
shame sentimentally suffices some sacrament: strange secondary seekers safely scout such suffrage so suddenly, shake spurious susceptibility southward so strangers seem superficial; supposing such simple servants survive such sycophantic schools sans shouting, scraping, sifting, straightforward striking; some surmise something sustains, something stinks. see? sure. self-sustainable, sick, staggeringly stupid ****.

subtle ****, slip sliding southward, stopping such sudden shudderance.

safe, she says?

soon such seas seem superfluous so... success: scream success! shake secondary security, say secrets, sratch surfaces, scrape sentimental sand so shapes shift sooner; similarly scrub seemingly subtle scars, seven seconds, second severance, something so subliminally separate simplifies shifting solace, sacrificing so solemly saturday's superficial stars.

such sweet serendipity.
always wanted to write something with more s.
#s
 Jul 2016 taia
Star Gazer
The weight of the world is incomparable
To the weight of a single word.
We dare not think nor touch the word 'love',
For it has lifted souls and broken spirits.
As humans, we often fall in love
But never do rise in love, it is all rather strange.

Few say, it is the poisoned petalled prisons,
whereby roses of emotions flourish
with the pain and heartache, and that
love is a part of heartbreak and vice versa.
So we stem ourselves on a foundation,
That becomes afraid of love, yet find love
to be the most beautiful thing, we could ever
come to love and come to hate.

Pivoting on such a word, those who do not
Attempt to romanticise the notion.
Romanticise love, as those who often do, say,
Accept that love is evident and existent,
Dream of a world that dares to write of it,
Often, we fall out of love, but we grew to be
Xerophilous in regards to life of love.
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