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 Nov 2013 Primrose Clare
TanTan
I take a pathless journey to my inner core
I'm free of travel paraphernalia, but eager to explore,
I leave behind along the line souvenirs of my mind,
sometimes jolly, sometimes sorry,  I crave no coat of memory.
I need no future foolish notions or dreams of possibilites,
on this journey of self discovery I am present wholly.
I take everything at its face, the beauty of now I embrace.  
Without any expectations, sailing light and free,
to the temple of beginnings and cessations,  
with my loved ones journeying next to me.
i sing a song of the cooing dove
that orbits in blue skies above;
biding time and waiting,
seeking wings of love.

i sing a song of waters still,
teeming underneath;
of predators that seek out fish
until they've had their fill.

i sing a song of swaying grass
on African savannahs;
that weather through nature's cruel
and bend as the winds pass.

i sing a song of songs to sing,
aloud, accompanied;
for one appreciates alone,
but two enjoy a thing.
Screams to be heard

No one to hear them

Blood caked on her wrists

No one to bandage them

Nightmares from her childhood

Coming alive

No one to save her

No one

*lily espy
Every word's a path,
each sentence a tree
and all attached to a stump of a woman
thin at the base then growing in circles,
until age is defined by height,
her illness by weight.

How can the wood of trench walls
look so lucid, perspex branches
contorting into string in the wind,
knotting air into eddies keeping them
floating right there?
from the poetry website, coffeeshoppoems.com
And I
Was so stuck
On my own
Little
Problems
That I totally
Missed
That you were
Suicidal
Too.
Nervousness speaks true thought
turning fresh air to gold as it travels
across the pub interior ether from
rough pale lips to your rouged
set, sitting tidy in front of me.

Shaking fingers shake hands with
thoughts and nothing, melding something
of answer to your question you asked
I think twenty-five minutes back,
I know not of Richard Feynman, please explain though.

Come the occasion of a plane crash or
shipwreck, can I sink with your voice
running soft laps around my head?
At least then your intonation's tread
and heel's step of educated well-read
can offset any pain caused by a wing in my thigh
or a timing belt leaving my tongue tied and wrapped.
from COFFEESHOPPOEMS.COM. Visit to read miserable poems about things that will never happen.
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