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 May 2014 Grez
Mary Christopher
Her name was Summer
And she had a fire burning inside of her
That no one could make flicker.

Her name was Autumn
And her hair glistened red and orange
As it fell across her face in the most beautiful way.

Her name was Winter
And when she turned her ice blue eyes to you,
A chill ran down your spine and you felt those feelings
You’ve longed for for oh so long.

Her name was Spring
And after the tears streamed down her face
Flowers began to bloom in her soul and she found herself in their petals.

My name is Mary
And I am none of these things.

m.c.c.
 May 2014 Grez
ray
settling
 May 2014 Grez
ray
i know recovery isn't a straight line
and i'd be lying if i said i wasn’t scared
when i look at my reflection.
life doesn’t get easier.
the desperate tone of your voice
explained that.
 May 2014 Grez
Joe Cole
The battles finally over, the deck is rent and torn
By the shot and shell that struck us in the battle storm
So sew him in his hammock lads, put the last stitch through his nose
Place a roundshot at his feet then over the side he goes
This then is the way we say goodbye to our comrades of the ship
We never knew their real names, maybe Harry Tom or ****
Yes we gave our mate the deep six, he's now six fathoms down
Lying on the bottom on his final resting place the sand
No time yet to ponder on his untimely death
We must make and mend and make our ship the best
The last stitch through the nose: The sailmaker always put the last stitch through the nose to ensure the sailor really was dead
The deep six: Six fathoms or 36 feet was traditionally the minimum depth for a burial at sea
A round shot at his feet: This was to ensure that the body didn't float
Why were sailors called tars? Because most sailors of that era had a pigtail that was coated in tar hence the traditional square scarf that some sailors wear even to this day
 May 2014 Grez
Chloé
you took
 May 2014 Grez
Chloé
You took my joy of life
So can i have my heart back?
 May 2014 Grez
Dhaye Margaux
Look what you've done, my dear...
I'm now a paramour of pain -
A hater of love
An exultant victim
A jaunty loser
An outsider to my own temple.

Look at these hands I've been using for a long time
As my powerful instrument
To press out the deepest emotions
And the dimension of my mind.
They're now but feeble tools
To  grasp what you throw upon me.

These wounds
I love to see them bleeding
Like those brooks overflowing
Which make the most beautiful grin in your face.
My fragile body which is now lying
Waiting for another stone
Or another blade
Coming from you.

Look what you have done to me, my dear...
I am looking ahead.
Waiting
Until


You can't stand
To see me


Dying.
I'm not the one in that old picture frame...
 May 2014 Grez
William A Poppen
“Except for needs I can pack everything I have 
into my old black sea-bag.”  * *

"I wish I had written that line,
I said loud enough for him to hear."

He shuffled around in his stool
and raised his cup to get  
hit with a refill.

Frustration wiggle I call it,
you know like when your dad
couldn’t let you struggle with a puzzle.

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot
announced his irritation
"Where have you been,
swimming shallow side?"

"I stated swatting away needs
like mosquitoes on sweat
when I was seven."

He peered past his coffee,
furrowed his brow
and rubbed his tongue
over his lower lip.

"Whiskey Tango Foxtrot,
why do you keep saying that, I asked"

"Guess you’ve never been in the military.
College man I reckin,
fancy degrees
and you don't know Alpha Zulu?"

From Alpha Zulu by Gary Lilley
Alpha Zulu in the NATO phonetic alphabet
When I left home
I left there a piece of my mind
What it keeps saying to me
Robs my peace of mind

Your attention not paid
For her cat clawed cut
Asking her if it still hurts
Should have got her a band-aid


Defocused out of sight
Forgot so much from last night

Never asked once
If by any chance
Her feet’s ache still remains

If she in her morn’s walk
Felt the pain
And she was home before the rains


I think of asking her all these
The questions I left behind
Some more some more

Then in the evening
As she opens the door
I remember some
Forget more

Maybe not even one
I can remember
The pains of her
Inside outside

At night by her side
Promise her
I’ll not be forgetful

See her clawed thumb-head
Plastered with band-aid
Her feet swollen

And she promises
She will not go out in the rain again.
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