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I gave her a book of poems
for her birthday.

And an eraser.

Not that the graphite words
were exceptionally poignant
but I felt that a gift
with a little something
scribbled on it
would be a bit more personal
than one that’s unblemished.

Even though the letters were destined
to be as fleeting
as those on sand,
even though the waves were the gentle
graceful strokes of her fingers,
even though it was a sanitisation
that could have easily been avoided
had she chosen me
over him,
I wrote them.

Because I knew that like scars
the tiny indentations would stay
and her beautiful fingertips
would feel them
if she ever chose
to run them over the page
while thinking of me.

If she’s ever thinking of me.

So I wrote with a pencil
and didn’t flinch
when my affection was reduced to
little grey globs of synthetic rubber.

“For my dearest       , Love Anjuman”
was all that I’d written, anyway.
 Oct 2013 Lizabeth
philosober
one day
someone
will stop his life
and listen.
not only to you
but to every breath you inhale
every sip of warm tea your lips take
every freckled movement your hands make
every song your eyes sing.
he will love you;
every kiss you trail
will leave him frail
every word you speak
will leave him weak
and
one day
he will pray you
will never leave him, too.
                                             *p.t.
 Oct 2013 Lizabeth
Jeremy Bean
Sold
 Oct 2013 Lizabeth
Jeremy Bean
Here I go again
giving another spin
a hotel room
a messy bed
empty bottle of gin
We laugh and lie
I stroke her thighs
and meet the eyes
colored a shade of why
but I must confess
shes caressing a carcass
twisted by his sins
even in such times
in know in my mind
where my soul would rather have been
They dragged the river twice
from bank to bank
a nice job for some.

Jimmy Dunn was bloated,full on fish and chips and mushy peas but then he eyed the apple pies and his eyes being bigger than his belly ordered that along with jelly and ice cream.
Leaning loudly on the groaning table and unable to make a start,he farted,then he ate some more, off Mr's Plumdore's a' la carte.
Again, he tried another start to get his day  up into gear,but parting from the food laid there was more than Jimmy Dunn could bear,so sitting down with more than most, he thanked his rather pretty hostess in the cafe, by the river Dee,
anyone with half a brain, would not have caused himself to gain such weight and I could see the enormity and the immensity of his big bulk.
Eventually he left his seat and plundered off along the riverside just as the tide was coming in,never saw the banana skin.

They dragged the river twice.
 Oct 2013 Lizabeth
Dah
The spirited light; the solar-like wind;
breath with its passion; the sun’s copious
****** venom.

I speak of everything and all things
without caution: this noise inside my head;
layers of high pitched harmonics;

the compressed hours between
birth and death; the heart’s heat
ascending and descending;

the end always beginning and again
your Gothic eyes. I have been here
and there, a prodigal hawk

with the flavor of blood-kisses hovering
like steam or mist or a weapon stirring
the body’s carbonic magnetic motion;

never the sky always the silence disclosing
the stillness in death’s fantasy—life and death;
love and loss; a fatalistic dream-reel

as if two mirrors facing each other reflecting
the same vacant image. I remember the faint
trail of finger prints; my impatient pulse

raced into yours. Deserted passions
like roses each one dies the same way
—our emotions mumbled

through love and into the glazed elixir
of a French kiss: In my arms you had fallen asleep
not knowing I had left.

——————————————————————————
From my second book: 'The Second Coming'
©dah / Stillpoint Books 2012  
all rights reserved

"never the sky always the silence"—from Andre' Breton

Search Amazon: "the second coming/dah" and "in forbidden language/dah"
the clock spins on down
time rollin on
hear the dead slouch through the darkness
the light yonder
aint one of dawn
its a burning
a burning in the souls
of man woman and child ever born
to see what shouldn't be seen
to do what shouldn't be be done
man has always been this way
nothing will draw a bigger crowd
than the forbidden fruit
than the pain of another human being
than the most perverse things
mankind's perverse mind can think of
the clock spins on down
time rollin on
age of man being able to destroy himself
the clock of doomsday
is always five minuets to midnight
they have chemical weponds in syria
they have nukes in north korea
aint no grave big enough
aint no funeral pire hot enough
for mans petty spites
for mans thirst for blood
we can put a man on the moon
we can spend billions for a war on drugs
but we dont spend a dime to stop mans fascination with
his own destruction
 Oct 2013 Lizabeth
oaks i kill
Erase it all
Because they're all meaningless
Your brother made a call
to a psychiatrist
He called your name,
carried you out
You black out

Erase it all
Because you can't do it right
You're poetically sad,
said a boy in your yard
Your Brain speaks, Be mad
but the boy ran away
And he ran away hard

Erase it all
Because there's none left to hide
Your guilty thoughts
The pervasive virus
that you all but fought
Who could love a thing
So dangerously uncallous

Erase it all
Because there's no ending
Prosperous or not
We're all just swimming
in a shallow void
scraping our mass of skin
And we all but bleed
In the realm of fantasy where imagination unfettered can wander free
is where I'll be,
should you wish to drop by
and call on me.
But
beware of hobgoblins under the trees,they'll tie you in knots and do just as they please.
Cats will chase mice and mice will eat cheese
but hobgoblins do neither
they just do as they please.
It can all be found down on Strutton Ground, or on Victoria Street,where the Angels meet up once a week to seek out worthy causes,
in between and between the pauses of the traffic that rushes past,eyes are cast among the cats eyes that sprawl on roads so lazily and look to see the racing of humanity.

Fleeting are the fleet of foot that shut away ,what, but only if they knew are people just like me and you.
And tanks tread leaden legs and heads no longer full,pull doleful souls to where the Angels stand and lend a hand.

Victoria has many palaces but palisades they'll all become,importuning what light there was and opportunities are light because,
the work has dried up,******* in the red tape of black crepe soled shoes that use the halls of parliament and only to abuse the lost,the friendless and the night seems never endless for this section of society.
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