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Yet another tribute to all of you who write. You are the true Rock Stars of the Universe.
Fiddling on the Roof, as if
Throwing our common soul out
To downpour over the
Houses and streets of Anatevka, now

Abandoned. Seized by
The Tsar.
Such is the soul that writes.

Tells. Thinks. Whispers of.
Records and absorbs.
Carves from Creation.

Such is the soul that writes; waits
Another hour in bed in the
Morning, knowing
The Early Worm

Gets the beak first.
The Soul that writes is
The quill of the gods; angel
Feathered, timeless and part of

Everything. Say to yourselves
I will write until the only ink
I have is the black in my eye.
I'll learn to write blind from there.*

You would.

You wrote all that has
Ever been
In her name, runs a river,
The silent bliss of a downhill venture.

In her name flows a river of gold,
One for which even the pharaohs would lay down their lives, bewitched.

The dance in her eyes, calling out to a frail man like you,
The song in her name, the breath of life itself, given to few.

As the day turns to night and the world turns to another side,
This timeless wonder of her, keeps you awake through the night.

In her name, you felt joy that couldn't surpass any other form,
Im her name, you found life you never knew.
 Jun 2014 Steven Fortune
It pains me
That I’m always at
the dusty corners
Like old, forgotten books
Undusted for many years
So forgotten and unopened
that the pages would
stick together
And it would take a
real curious reader
To carefully
take their time
And unravel the pages
one by one
Without tearing them
And with delicate hands
that would soothe the soul
And bring it to life again
A stranger has come
To share my room in the house not right in the head,
                    A girl mad as birds

Bolting the night of the door with her arm her plume.
                    Strait in the mazed bed
She deludes the heaven-proof house with entering clouds

Yet she deludes with walking the nightmarish room,
                    At large as the dead,
Or rides the imagined oceans of the male wards.

                    She has come possessed
Who admits the delusive light through the bouncing wall,
                    Possessed by the skies

She sleeps in the narrow trough yet she walks the dust
                    Yet raves at her will
On the madhouse boards worn thin by my walking tears.

And taken by light in her arms at long and dear last
                    I may without fail
Suffer the first vision that set fire to the stars.
 Jun 2014 Steven Fortune
Joe Cole
On this day 70 years ago they stormed across the sand
Boys of many nations to remove the tyrants hand
Heros all those boys so young who shed their blood for us
In that ****** fight for freedom

Across the sand they struggled neath a hail of shot and shell
Never glancing backwards as around them comrades fell
Fear was in their eyes, terror in their hearts
Many never made it and twas on foreign sand they died

Yes they died to give us the freedom that we have got this day
They died to free the world, for us they made the play
Boys from ever walk of life crossed the beaches there
Office clerks and farmers and the ones who cut our hair

Yes they were heroes all who gave their lives for us
But lets not forget the few who made it possible
The girls who made the shells, the men who built the tanks
They were the unsung heroes
They have also have earned our thanks

Without their dedication to the task they had in hand
Many more would have lost their lives on that shell torn blood stained sand
They to can hold their heads up high, they knew they did their bit
In bringing freedom to the masses when they broke the tyrants grip
Afternote... nearly all 4,400 allied soldiers died on those beaches 70 years ago today
decorated, concealed
whitewashed, peeled
years of little earthquakes
will shake you

she is framed art hung, unsung
unknown to anyone
jilted, wilted
a still life flower
hanging ever crooked
upon the wall
dedicated to all who struggle with drug addiction, especially to a certain person in my life
In the night garden, star flowers linger
long before dawn, before the sun
vines climb, with ivory flowers hung
bringing light, where the moon glows pale
flowered jasmine is sweet beneath the air of fire
with lanterns lit in floral scents
glowing through diaphanous petals
here, where the earth shines like heaven
and blooms not unlike the stars.
Breath of life, it is a wild ocean
always a tide coming and going
in this place, it does not linger long
never holding on, only drifts quietly into night
into stars, into fleeting sparks of fire flies
or in the night waters, a ghostly glow
of phosphorescence, a transient trail
of luminescence that soon
fades and reappears to light
the deepest depths
of sea
to all who stop by here to read this poem, I thank you
to all poets, here and everywhere, I thank you
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