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the name is wrong the memory still right
of the grey trees beside the drystone wall
fruiting in summer so lush in recall
and seen so clearly in approaching night
as we looked up to see the birds in flight
the setting sun that gorgeous red ball
as into the green sea it seemed to fall
made of it one stark blessing of a sight
we cannot know what goods may come to pass
on this hard journey up and down the hill
but dare not bid a single minute stay
yet what we see reflected in the glass
is not the force either of wit or will
but all the markings of the normal way
 Aug 2013 Quentin Briscoe
Sir B
All alone
Humming tunes to myself
Thinking of how it fell apart
How I lost control of myself
How I got hurt through
Layers of happiness

I guess..
I don't know the answer
Haven't found it yet
Hope to find it soon

I think
It was
















That girl.....

Down the street....
Not aimed towards anyone, just a few things I regret doing, they'll stay with me now. Forever.
In a way, you, my dear friends, are in the company of a ghost.
Why is this, you ask? Or perhaps you don’t ask,
perhaps you do not care at all.
If you are expecting dripping ghostly green ectoplasm
or a white bed sheet with holes cut out for the eyes,
then you, my dear friends, have the wrong expectations.
You are wrong, yet
are still in the company of a ghost. A ghost
holds on long after his time, longing
for more time here with his dear friends to feel
loving arms around his neck, arms that are slipping, arms that shouldn’t let go, mustn’t let go,
arms that continue
slipping, those arms are gliding off too quickly, too soon, those arms.

Those arms are gone.
Those arms are no longer holding
our dear friend. He cannot let go
because those once loving arms
have let me go.

This is why you, my dear friends,
are in the company of a ghost.
Updated 2 August 2013
I missed you the way the stars missed the sun -
knowing that we were in the same sky,
yet not in reach of each other
hurt more than the impact of any falling star.
It’s times like this, when I’ve realised I only have six months left here, that things really hit me. I know, six months seems a lot, but with exams are coming up, six months will be gone in no time and I’ll be back in Melbourne before I know it. And it’s ironic, I’ve been pining for the place I grew up in for so long, I’ve completely missed the fact that I’ve grown the most back here, in my little home town. I’m going to miss this place and the amazing, gorgeous people I’ve met. Perhaps, too much for my own good.
My wishing star fell from the heavens and into the depths of hell
Leaving me without a hope to fill this hollow shell
So if you wonder why my head's down, it because I've searched for it in the sky
Finding it's light has been extinguished without a single goodbye

Hell has come by once or twice and knocked upon the floorboards
Taunting me and prodding an already open sore
The thing that remains to be decided is whether or not I'd want it back
Knowing the charred remains lie somewhere as it's luminous white turns black

So hear I stand with head to the ground and tears welling up in my eyes
Hearing the darkening sky which gives me reason to cry
Not a hope, not a dream, not a song, not a wish, not one story to tell
Not since my wishing star fell from the heavens and into the depths of hell
Slide to Unlock

When inspiration is imprisoned,
insight,
a crime-of-no-passion victim,
strangled by codification,
clothed in a prison uniform,
where *uniform
be another word for a
poet's death sentence.

When dream interruptus,
is a nightly altercation,
a hellacious sensation,,
rolling of the dice,
rewarding the dreamer
with an not-so-good ending to his
falling sensation,
or, for an old school type (me),
the nightmare worst:

A world sans punctuation!

The truth about what haunts you,
in the valley of dried bones grows whiter,
even Vishvaksena and his armies
helpless, cannot eradicate.

Then, your  iPad reminds:

"Sir, sometimes you have to
Slide to Unlock!"

Slide to unlock the aggravations,
Let it out with disregard,
Let us know how you feel
When the constriction in the throat
From the things you can't say
Stops making you choke.

Truth is out of style,
common decency is a phrase
unused
or just abused.

The only difference between liar and fair,
a single letter and a
rearrangement of the facts
to suit yourself.

So I like you fine,
I like you better even,
now that it's ok to slide
beneath the fielder's tag
and get in your face and
unlock what rumbling around
in the ruins of my psyche,
ruminations about this and that,
released with a flourish and a rich
***** you!

But I like it, like you best
when in the pursuit of life, liberty and happiness,
it's ok for me to politely inform you
to fk off!

So,
I do declare myself
unlocked
and in your face
booked!
Still uninspired...dug out another old one....bit of a mess, I agree
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