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 Jun 2018 Alec
Aa Harvey
Use me again.


I’m not sure what I think of you,
But I still have to come and use you.
I’m not sure what I think of you,
But I shall let you use me too.


There’s a tidal wave of pressure, crashing down upon me;
I think it’s time, to refocus my energy.
I need to lift this weight off my shoulders;
To remove your expectations and set myself free.


All I want, from you, is nothing!
All you need is all you see.
Why did you not, buy a conscience?
Why can you not, sell your greed?


Give me a gun, so I can eat a bullet;
Break my skull, with just one bite.
The hole in my head, let’s out the blood;
The cold air needs, to rush inside and hide.


Our time has now, just burnt away,
Into a cloud of misspent youth.
All I was looking for was love…
I only found sorrow and contempt for you.


(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
 Jun 2018 Alec
Aa Harvey
The Poet Condemned


I have opened my mind and unleashed Pandora’s Box.
My mind is now open, but my will is now lost.
Freedom of the mind; open and clear.
We couldn’t see the demons, but we can feel the fear.


Laying down to rest, my mind springs to life.
Wake up!  Wake up!  It’s time to write!
How?  I’m exhausted!  I can’t think of a thing.
Nonsense!  Write a line…And then do it again!


Your soul pours out your head, like a waterfall of life;
But as your mind opens up; the demons creep inside.
You have opened your mind and let in damnation.
Now the demonic voices; you shall forever be hearing…


Write us a rite!  An incantation!
Call us up, another demon.
Write us a rhyme, so divine and sublime,
That it shall be remembered,
For the rest of time.


Another day.
Another dollar.
Forget the squalor that surrounds you.
The island of your bed, amongst the dirt shall stay true.


Throw it away!
Find it another day.
Write another poem!
Try to look happy.


So what if your hope and faith have disappeared?
Just speak the truth, I have never lied; you will always hear,
That dark voice creeping, upon you once more…
You are tired and you have written all the poems you can…
Now write us a book!


Make it really interesting for the little people;
Oh and you’ve got to add a few Demons.
Do it!  Do as you are told!  Write me a book!
I don’t care if you are tired.
Write it and make it good.


Now the book is written;
I’ve told the stories meaning.
The book will become, ‘The Books’
Of this poet’s Demons.


So now ten years later, I sit on the beach.
I have a wife and kids now…and I still have my Demons.
My Demons and I have grown to like one another, at last.
I know I am The Poet Condemned…
But at least my demons are a good laugh.


So I sit here at the end of another poem…
Hello Mr. Demon, yes I know, I was just starting,
To write another poem to appease you…but now I’m retiring.
Because I can’t get a publisher…
So Mr. Demon; it’s time for you to be going.


(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
 Jun 2018 Alec
Edward Coles
She drew each suit
Of a deck of cards
On my arm with a
Black ballpoint pen
We nursed our shared glass
And took ice once
All the customers had taken
Their motorbikes into the night
We made love beneath
The fairy-lights and
Cleansed ourselves
In simple, beautiful poverty

I knew that the ink
The glass
The ice
The fairy-lights
And the ***
Would all burn out
Or wash away

I knew that the poverty
Would lift
Eventually
And expose
Our rushed
And reasonless
Foundations
C
 Jun 2018 Alec
Mya
"In the end
It's you.
And, **** it,
It's always
just going to
be you.
So,
I'm simply
not going to fight it
anymore.
You're mine."
It's a honey feeling, sweet and messy, to have someone else

Own your heart.
But when it's the right person,
Maybe it's not a bad thing.
 Jun 2018 Alec
Sara
iridescence
 Jun 2018 Alec
Sara
I'm transparent like a window
but I'm prone to keeping curtains closed
to cover up my youthful,
aching, naked soul.

I used to be promiscuous;
my essence on my sleeve.
a charming laugh; a crystal glass
from which many a fool drew drink.

A chalice of life;
warm like cinnamon wine,
soft like angel's delight.
Beheld by every eye.

But it never felt right;
I was smoke off a fire,
yet still smouldering coal.
Just a young, beautiful

byproduct of desire.
There's no smoke without fire.
Although, I tried to fan it cool;
the flames ran only wilder.

But as the old wind blows, it seems
a withered tree still grows new leaves.
A dandelion spreads its seeds
but they lie far away from me.

Now, I move transcluently-
ultraviolet invisible ink-
I speak in soothing whispers;
they travel further than you'd think.
Iridescence is things seemingly changing colour on their own- I think we all have the power to grow and move away from our pasts.

I love how fire is a destructive yet cleansing force.
 Jun 2018 Alec
Rohan P
stone blue
 Jun 2018 Alec
Rohan P
graves are silent in passing;
stone withers like snow
cracked and weathered: the horizon
pales in shades of blue.
 Jun 2018 Alec
Rohan P
spring pressed
flowers against your body: bluebells
and lilies, yellows and greens.

you remembered the place
where the reeds thickened and
the tall grass swayed with your
heartbeat. you remembered
unravelling the sky, that
withering blue nebula,
sinking into shades of
night

        (your
petals fell into
               the dying        breeze
"I live among men and not among angels", claimed Thaddeus Stevens, that lion of a man, in justification of what he saw as an imperfect 14th Amendment.

Imperfection is what defines humanity, drives us to change. That we can feel—and that we can lose—reaffirms the beauty and subtlety of this dance we call existence.

This is for Benjamin.
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