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 Jan 2017 giofuellos
Meg
colorblind
 Jan 2017 giofuellos
Meg
do not be fooled - depression is not
colorblindess.
depression is seeing scarlet
but not being able to feel the fire's burnished tongue.
depression is seeing aquamarine
but not savoring the feeling of drowning in saltwater lungs.
depression is seeing burgundy
but no longer being able to taste red wine in your throat
or pomegranate seeds between your teeth
or sunsweet berries on your tongue.

*depression is seeing color
but not understanding it.
Those who say depression makes the world seem in monochromatic shades of grey don't understand depression.
 Jan 2017 giofuellos
phil roberts
Wistfully
Wishfully
My daydream drift
Takes me eye to eye
And hand in hand
On a sunny morning
Somewhere
Settling dust
Step by step
And side by side
There's a tide close by
Responding to gravity
And gravity of sorts
Draws our souls
Fatefully
Inevitably
Together

                     By Phil Roberts
 Jan 2017 giofuellos
Q
Endless
 Jan 2017 giofuellos
Q
People look for the fountain of youth
But I am a fountain of words

I wield them like weapons
They slip from my grip
I spend them like bills
They steep me in wealth
I tuck them in my pockets
They spill from my lips
I give them as gifts
They stick in my teeth
I kiss them on cheeks
They slide down my throat
I stack them on shelves
They pile at my feet
I pack them in boxes
They stain my sheets
I burn them to ashes
They pow-

I hope you get it because
This **** is endless and
I forgot where I was going with this
 Dec 2016 giofuellos
martin
Back in the old days before combine harvesters came in, harvest time was much more labour intensive.  All the crops were loaded by hand on to horse-drawn carts and taken to the stack yard, where an array of often beautifully crafted stacks would be built, and thatched.

It was a very busy time of the year for the thatchers, who would work from six in the morning till nine at night for several weeks until all the stacks were safely protected from the rain. After the last stack was finished, my old boss was paid the overtime due to him. He remembered that one year it was just enough to buy himself a new pair of work boots!

One year, before handing over payment for thatching his stacks, a farmer named Mr Cutting said to Jim;  "That made me sweat to write your cheque this year."  Jim quickly replied;  "Med me sweat fust!"
There are lots of cottages built in old stack yards called Pyghtle Cottage as pyghtle, pronounced pie-cle is an old Anglo Saxon word meaning a small plot of land.

— The End —