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Mykarocknrollin Feb 2015
when our eyes meet
it's like burning gold
and now i will say to you
it's painful to see that
once our eyes meet again
you're hesitations gone wild
are gone for me
Take the thistle
seen by the roadside
that is remarkable
in your eyes above all
for its color, and for its
solitude, and set it in a
*** of good soil in
your house, upon
the window-sill.
There let it sit,
day in and day out,
crown turned
sunwards, and its
leaves outstretched.
Guard it well
from those insects
that would
devour it, and
give it water,
once per week.
Hold it as a
***** friend,
as a child,
before whose
passing shall
leave the world
many times its
number, that the
likeness of the
thistle be always
kept in memory,
and in time.

Here, and in such things,
is found beauty.

I’m heading West
(where ever that is) .

I march off into the distance
of field & sky.

West is where
my uncle is.

I cut through
the heat haze.

My uncle’s dinner
wrapped up in a scarf on the end of a stick

as if I am
running away into forever.

Tea slops in an old milk bottle
with a piece of cloth as a stopper.

I stare into the empty air
as if suddenly I will discover there

a sign saying:
“West – this way! ”

My Auntie Nellie’s instructions
still stamped on the inside of my stupid skull.

“Go west into the field
with your Uncle Michael’s dinner.

“Tell him. . .”

Me too terrified to tell her
I don’t know
where West is?

Typical townie!

I search the farm field by field
‘till I finally find him

sprouting out of a field
with a cloud attached to his head

beside the broken rickety gate
where the tiniest ever wild strawberries grow.

So this is where West is!

Why didn’t she say so in the first place!
This I know!

Why send me like a fool on a child’s errand!

My uncle devours everything ‘cept
the scarf & the stick.

Tells me
(“Oh no! ”)

to go South to where Uncle Seanie is

and. . .
Em Dec 2018
left me with a broken compass
trying to find the person i was before i got so lost in those lies
but the directions only twist me down winding roads
that lead me back to you

-even when i am lost i go looking for you instead

With a click I
begin the journey

(I'm advised)


( sunlight glances off
a passing car)

(sunlight becomes rain)

Passing by now
Ripley's Believe it or Not.

And indeed it is so
a man walks a weasel

on a lead
passerbys give him a wide berth

amused and bemused
all at the same time.

A punk sings opera
as if he had stepped

out of another

As work progresses
a photo of a building

covers the building
as if it were wearing

the 2-D dress of
it's 3-D self.

Waiting for a green light
a dog pees on my left shoe.

Ctrl+ drag mouse
and we go full 3-D

now the satellite
view as you

come into focus
through raindrop glasses

"Sweet Thames flow softly...."
MacColl's voice leaking from a car window

hum now as I cross
the street to greet her

"Kissed her once again at Wapping,
Flow sweet river flow...

After that there was no stopping
Sweet Thames  flow softly..."
Ewan MacColl had just died somewhere in '89 and suddenly he was remembered as the guy who wrote the extraordinary beautiful THE FIRST TIME EVER I SAW YOUR FACE and the gritty ***** OLD TOWN and of course SWEET THAMES.  I so loved his songs.

Now 20 years later I was crossing London and getting directions from Google and hearing his voice once again leak from a car stopped at the light.
Google directions telling me that the real world might be different out there amused me and this poem sat down in a chair in my mind and made itself at home. "Ahhhh howya!" said the poem. "I hear y'are the fellow who's going to write me!"
J  Feb 12
J Feb 12
I kept running away.
But no matter which
direction I go, I don’t
know if it’s the right
way. When I feel that
I found the right way,
I can’t seem to go
too far.

Maybe I left my heart
at the place where
I gave it to you, and
you left it there, too.
Right. Right. Left. Left.
It doesn’t matter.
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