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 Feb 2015 John F McCullagh
martin
Once I lov'd a bonie lass,
Ay, and I love her still;
And whilst that virtue warms my breast,
I'll love my handsome Nell.

As bonie lasses I hae seen,
And mony full as braw;
But, for a modest gracefu' mein,
The like I never saw.

A bonie lass, I will confess,
Is pleasant to the e'e;
But, without some better qualities,
She's no a lass for me.

But Nelly's looks are blythe and sweet,
And what is best of a',
Her reputation is complete,
And fair without a flaw.

She dresses aye sae clean and neat,
Both decent and genteel;
And then there's something in her gait
Gars ony dress look weel.

A gaudy dress and gentle air
May slightly touch the heart;
But it's innocence and modesty
That polishes the dart.

'Tis this in Nelly pleases me,
'Tis this enchants my soul;
For absolutely in my breast
She reigns without control.
for Burns night
Undying love to buy
I wrote upon
The corners of this eye
All wrongs done.
What payment were enough
For undying love?

I broke my heart in two
So hard I struck.
What matter? for I know
That out of rock,
Out of a desolate source,
Love leaps upon its course.
we all make mistakes that we can never change
no way of going back no way to rearrange.

we cant make it better no matter what we do
the past is in the past mistakes we made a few.

what is done is  done we cant take it back
put them all behind and get life back on track.

take it day by day start again a new
leave mistakes behind is all that you can do.
 Feb 2015 John F McCullagh
Helen
You penned a soliloquy
yet I heard my own voice
You spoke of your own hardship
yet you gave me no choice
You talked about your pain
yet I writhe in agony
You penned a soliloquy
yet you said nothing worthy

You spoke of nothing but yourself
you spoke only of your pain
You spoke of a singular truth
you forgot to mention my heart slain

What?
You couldn't write a sonnet?
14 artful lines are not that long
You couldn't Acrostic this?
I HURT SOMEONE

No!

You write a soliloquy
Where your discourse is so obtuse!
Even in the form of Poetry
you deny me

*Is it the truth?
 Feb 2015 John F McCullagh
Paige
Of course,
I knew I'd always
like you.
You talked like his poetry,
although you'd never read
Bukowski.
The real shame about our
short lived time together,
is that I never told you your
voice sounded like poetry,
and your hands felt like poetry,
your mouth tasted like poetry,
and your eyes looked like poetry.
Beautiful.
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