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Poems

Dave Robertson Aug 2021
1.

I started in the shadow of one of God’s many houses,
fat plums on common ground offered themselves,
taut, bruise-purple skin still pristine
for maybe two, three more weeks

Walking on, a burst fig signaled
something
fresh green torn
scandalously showing fleshy insides
that should be kept private
for lovers, gourmands, gluttons

All the while, intermittently,
the straight line train drones by,
keeping Presbyterian hold
on passing passengers
who through unopened windows
cannot smell, hear or taste the divine

All the while the crickets sang of being

2.

All the while the crickets scored my steps
until ahead, nettle and dog rose conversations
conspired to thwart this man’s,
any man’s,
attempts to walk straight and true

A detour took me from the soft lost chaos of grasses
to tight lawns, hard front doors,
dark-ish satanic mills making wheat biscuits
and the ever sad chorus of a million tyres

Nearing home, a young rabbit’s boldness held
until too close, melted away

in the managed parkland
dragonfly truths called, m’ ducks
dragonfly truths called
Donall Dempsey Dec 2015
OF ALL THE KISSES IN ALL THE WORLD, SHE HAS TO WALK INTO MINE!

I kissed you in
Islip & Liss.

Then once again in
Syathling, Shipton & Pershore.

Where ever I kissed you
I only ever wanted to

kiss you

more.

I kissed you in
Amberly & Arundel.

Once, I kissed you in
Swale & Sway.

I kissed you all over
in many various places

that I cannot remember
today.

I only remember

the kisses

scattered all over England

refusing to fade away.






These are all the beautiful names of little towns and villages in southern England. To my English Jan they were just names but to an Irishman unacquainted with them...they were magical sounds that opened the portals to worlds and love unknown. As we toured the area I did indeed kiss her in all these various places...indeed I cannot conceive of a time or a place in which we were not engaged in the art and craft of kissing. The magic of the kisses and the magic of the names cross pollinated and bloomed into the world of this poem. I still love saying this poem as it allows my lips to kiss once again those beautiful sounds and to kiss the lips that I loved to kiss. They refuse to...fade away. My heart held in Swale and Sway...as if it were today.
***

These are all the beautiful names of little towns and villages in southern England. To my English Jan they were just names but to an Irishman unacquainted with them...they were magical sounds that opened the portals to worlds and love unknown. As we toured the area I did indeed kiss her in all these various places...indeed I cannot conceive of a time or a place in which we were not engaged in the art and craft of kissing. The magic of the kisses and the magic of the names cross pollinated and bloomed into the world of this poem. I still love saying this poem as it allows my lips to kiss once again those beautiful sounds and to kiss the lips that I loved to kiss. They refuse to...fade away. My heart held in Swale and Sway...as if it were today.
Miley Cyrus  Jan 2015
Cool
Miley Cyrus Jan 2015
New flame
West islip high school
Another hell I have no idea I'm getting myself into
I refuse to make it another me story
Another struggle to fit in story
Like all of my previous years
I really don't want to sit here and plan
Cuz life can't be planned
It works on its own timing
I hope for the best
I'm going in with confidence in myself
Knowing that I'm important
No matter who judges me
I'm important
In an almost all white school
Yeah I'm ******* important
And I'll remember that
I am loved
By God, my family , by me.....