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 Dec 2017 olivia g
Lior Gavra
Am I just a wheel?
Consuming meals?
A speck in blue sea?
Bound by what I see?
Life amongst trees?
Breathing means free?

Am I my beliefs?
The truth I seek?
Flag of a country?
Defined by currency?
A liability?
Part of society?

Am I what you see?
The way you judge me?
The values you pick?
First impressions stick?
Norm defined by you?
Do I dare to be rude?

No...

I am who I choose.
I fill my own shoes.
I win when I lose.
I create my own views.
I see black beyond blue.
I pick me over you.

Who are we?
I am me.
Who are we?
Depends on you.
when he pressed his soft mouth upon yours
you were pliant, moving like the sea
back and forth and back and forth
bestowing unto him a kind of carnage
to smash apart his fear

you felt his sighing exhale upon your cheek
as he pressed on, far too eager
far too soft-headed
can you imagine?
a boy with lips like cherries
a boy who brushed his leg against yours
a boy who decided to be bold
a boy who decided you were worth the risk

you were so very eager to reward him for his courage
and it was so simple to slip your fingers between his knuckles
under the table where all the well dressed acquaintances sat
and it was so exhilarating to whisper to him
in secrecy, to so surreptitiously excuse yourself
and wait.

when the cherry-mouthed boy entered
and locked the door behind him
and descended upon you
you ran your palms up his stomach
and higher, and you felt his heart thundering in his chest

you kissed him like the starving boy that you were
displaying your hunger so nakedly
for every sigh, there was a kiss
for every kiss, a silent plea:

‘please, please, please,
don’t disappear.
i have been staring into the great maw of loneliness
and i don’t want to be swallowed back up again, not ever

‘may your heart’s beating be the tempo by which i live
and if you walk, let me walk alongside you

‘no matter how you live, let it be a life spent in mine.’
 Aug 2017 olivia g
Grant Dickson
The smell of burnt toast
The smoke alarm sounding
The Sweet aromatic hint of coffee
The familiar sound of breakfast TV
The erratic coughing of the old Lady
The constant barking of next doors hounds.
The Siblings shouting at each other while dressing .
The babies shallow cry all from an open window.
Then the regimental voice we all know and come to love.

" Shurrup you're all giving me a headache" and the split second silence followed by  " Oye you up yet C'mon you'll be late AGAIN !!"
The passionate loving voice of a stressed Mother sorting her troops.

Alas the neglected sound of silence fills the air...........until tomorrow.

©Grant Dickson 04/03/2016
I wrote this for mothers day in 2016
 Aug 2017 olivia g
Grant Dickson
Worn out to extent of collapse,
My body clock about to elapse.
Turning from a strong mountain,
Cascading like a giant fountain.
Crumbling into a pile of rock,
Life slowing hearing it tick tick.
Feeling it's time to close my eyes,
Waiting for tomorrow's hidden disguise.
Time to dim the bright light,
Then with a sigh say night night.
This bodies ready for the heap,
Sweet Dreams my friends it's time to sleep.
© Grant Dickson 09/02/2016
I wrote this after so many greats of the music and movie world had passed away in the first months in 2016
 Aug 2017 olivia g
Grant Dickson
T'was the night before school,
and all through the house.
Not a sound could be heard,
Not even a mouse.
It's that time again good grief ,
the uniforms nicely pressed .
Parents gave a sigh of relief,
kids back to school looking there best.
Hip hop hooray we all say,
at least till the next holiday.

Copyright Grant Dickson 14/08/2015
My interpretation of a night before Christmas
 Aug 2017 olivia g
Jim Morrison
Shake dreams from your hair
My pretty child, my sweet one.
Choose the day and
choose the sign of your day
The day’s divinity
First thing you see.
A vast radiant beach
in a cool jeweled moon
Couples naked race down by it’s quiet side
And we laugh like soft, mad children
Smug in the woolly cotton brains of infancy
The music and voices are all around us.
Choose, they croon, the Ancient Ones
The time has come again
Choose now, they croon,
Beneath the moon
Beside an ancient lake
Enter again the sweet forest
Enter the hot dream
Come with us
Everything is broken up and dances.

— The End —