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Marcus Lane Mar 2016
A dry desert wind
Made the stinging sand swirl,
And the dense dunes drift

Vision blurred
Words choked


Returning brings dreams of cool water
Just out of reach.
Greetings "Hello" poets. I'm an old hand with quite a back catalogue (of differing quality!) I've not written, nor even visited the site, for several years ....... simply found nothing to say that was worth saying. Something drew me back here this evening (after I'd retrieved my forgotten password.) It feels good to be back and to see so many vibrant imaginations at work. Do look up some of my old stuff if you have a moment. It's made me both smile and wince to read some of them again!
Marcus Lane Dec 2012
She peels each wafered layer
To expose the next.
Bitter tears lie at her heart.
© Marcus Lane 2012
Marcus Lane Aug 2012
Parasitic friend,
Your promises to me were
Laced with poisoned breath.
© Marcus Lane 2012

Author's note: This haiku is a return to some sort of writing after a break of two years. (Not owing to an addiction, I hasten to add!)
Marcus Lane Mar 2011
We sit cross-legged in the story corner
Breathing faint ammonia smells.
Table chants and hymns echo through corridor acoustics,
All creatures great and small.

We are wedged in a tangle of podgy thighs,
Grazed knees, scabs and warts.

And Anthony is sitting alone again
Where he can do no harm.

Yet he said he would bring it, and bring it he has.
Its tiny white head is nosing over
The  hem of his pocket,
Whiskers a-twitch and
Eyes like tiny blood blisters ripe for popping.

A shudder of shivering whispers and
Nervous heads are half turned:

Yes, Anthony is smiling his special smile.

Mrs Lloyd has found the page,
My lids are squeezed tight
As I urge my mind to follow her away
From here, away from now.

For playtime will be ****** once again.
© Marcus Lane 2010
Marcus Lane Mar 2011
Gold tipped crocus spears
Pierce the frost-skinned garden's heart:
Winter lies bleeding
Marcus Lane Mar 2011
Spring rejoices to
The trumpeting daffodils'
Triumphant fanfare
Marcus Lane Mar 2011
A limerick writer from Kent
Found his pencil all crooked and bent.
Though ******, licked and chewed,
It still remained skewed,
(Even stretched to its fullest extent).
© Marcus Lane 2010
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