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Leigh Apr 2015
For Idil Ibrahim
In memory of Tim Hetherington - 1970 - 2011

I cannot stay and speak my truth while the front line has no voice.
The carpet doesn't share substance with the blood-clumped
dust of Liberia; Red wine doesn't stain nations and it hasn't
changed the world.

I cannot stay and walk these steps while the fragile youth stand.
Our Sunday morning route doesn't cover landscapes of wounds
and bodies; Central Park has never felt a thousand welted
feet march for death.

I cannot stay and see your face while molten plastic scars her world.
Your delicate eyes have never seen the darkness of a child's grief;
Our democracy cannot fathom the searing, slow drip after a family
massacred.

I cannot stay and feel worthy of your love while injustice goes unseen.
My lens has immortalised what we held dear, but is yet to capture
the human condition; I spoke to you like I spoke to them;
Through decades of mortar fire I spoke to them.
.

Inspired by the life of Tim Hetherington, a frontline war photographer and journalist. His story is well told in 'Which way is the front line from here?' A truly remarkable person.

.
Joshua Kirby Dec 2014
Nature metaphors
And descriptive similes
All fail to capture
How sweet and lovely and good
And desirable you are
Janor Nov 2014
Some moments are not to be captured
not in a photo
not in a story
not anywhere
Some moments should only live in a memory
AMcQ Nov 2014
Forever beating heart;
Why do you flee
the safety of
my chest once more?
Is it so that
you may confront
your opponent...
has the mind provoked you?
Perhaps you sailed north
of your own accord;
to pry open my lips
and pour out love
as I battle to suppress
your persistence.
Meagan Marie Nov 2014
You look in the mirror and see every flaw
     on you face,
Then hold your head down for every little
     blemish, for all of your minute imperfections,
And that is all that you see, all you can
     think about when you watch people's eyes on you.

But we are our own worst critic,
     and how pessimistic it is
That we can only look at ourselves
     and see our worst.

If you haven't noticed, though, you've
     never truly looked at yourself.
You've only ever seen your reflection,
     a mere image staring back at you.

The truth of the matter is that you'll
     never be able to see yourself, only your reflection,
Something that can never fully capture you
     because a picture is only worth a thousand words.
You are worth at least a million.

So maybe you should stop looking
     at yourself in the mirror
And start seeing yourself through my eyes,
     then you will see that
You are beautiful.
Kerli Tulva Aug 2014
***
Like a swallow dashes in the sky
My thoughts swoop in the speed of light.
So very hard to capture them
Just let them fly in the height.
Tristan W Aug 2014
"Take aim," and guns rise.
The line of men weeps softly.
And the cowards fall.
About war runaways being killed.
Michael Amery Jul 2014
The human heart is very fragile indeed.
Yes it is capable of holding and exuding such fiery passions as to consume you whole,
Yet can it not be crushed underfoot with a wayward blow meant to push away rather than injure or the sweet kiss of fare thee well from the object of your eternal desire?

Love is not the monster that hides beneath your bed, rather under your sheets where you wistfully dream of your prince, your knight, the girl next door or the **** *******.

Love is the creature that hunts for your immortal soul not by night but rather captures and enraptures you in the brightness of day with a single smile and words that only you amongst the billions in this world were meant to hear.

Love is not the answer, it is the question in the truest sense which poets, songwriters and the daft have spent eternity trying to unravel, it is a puzzle without end for the missing pieces lie within us all and can only be found in another.

And the creator in all his glory housed such a curse as a gift within the most fragile of vessels yet we stand shocked witness each time our hearts break.
I would not have it any other way.
Nameless Jul 2014
I sit easy watching you from afar
Your golden hair flowing in the summer breeze
The twinkle of your deep blue eyes they do capture me
You catch my eye and you're all so shy and turn away from me

I seek to see you smile
But distant you remain from me
Talking with friends and laughing
I watch in awe

I walk over to where you are to greet you
Eyes finally meeting
More beauty I see than I've ever known
Could this be mine truely
I calm my heart

Talking and waking
Radiant both within and externally
I want more Of this joy
I'm Blessed to meet you

We laugh and talk like great friends
Lost but now reconnected
In these Green  lush fields

Our time coming to a close soon
The boat begins to board
Holding your hand we embrace and I watch you smile
A single kiss for a true love that never ends
A remembrance of all memories

I whisper in your ear
'Until we meet again'
A final embrace and we depart

I sit uneasy watching you from afar
Your golden hair flowing in the summer breeze
The twinkle of your deep blue eyes they do capture me
Listening to some guitar  music
Martin Narrod Jun 2014
Most peculiarly of most things was that I thought all of this very fishy, daudry, drab, and boresome. This is where I turn on the second table lamp...

In a muster I arrived to the home of my aunt, where at once she drew me into the back of the house, down a flight of stairs made of tusk and bone into a catacomb where she kept a alive collection of wooly mammoths. She said the upkeep wasn't awfully horrendous as she had an invisible backdrop which led to a lion, a witch, and a wardrobe sort of thing. I stood in the gangway behind 10 foot high thigh bones waiting for one of the monstrous red beasts to come greet me, but what arrived was a very large elephant with longer tusks than usual. None of the red sillyness which I had dreamt of seeing in my previous years.

She could see I was not that impressed, and so I was led to another part of her home. Around the corner walked in my uncle in is superb and luxurious dress, reminiscent of 18th century British military fatigues. He said, "I bought the E.T. ride from Universal Studios, but as bringing the whole ride to my home I had them adapt a more suitable version to fit the property. A hangar opened and inside there were four chariots of orange and blue, diamond shaped school buses with their undersides aimed at withholding a V-shaped street. Then in two and two single file order all the classmates of my K-12 years arrived and took seat into the strappings of this 'ride' we were to take. Music played, John Williams even was produced by hologram, and after the ups and downs for several minutes we arrived to what I thought would inevitably be the forest, but rather was what I perceived was a Finnish town. The chariot I was in was stuck in the street, mud, rain, and soot entrenched us. I unbuckled the polyester straps and when I stood I realized that though the seats had built in urinals and toilets they were utterly noiseome to the senses. I followed a local girl to a food mart where I asked how I could find where I was but no one spoke a drop of English.

I corraled the group and told them to wait for me. I followed this girl who seemed quite younger than I to a small apartment in the uppermost floor of a very unsturdy chapel-like home several suburban blocks from our ride. She immediately removed her pants and I saw with my very own eyes that she was hairless and nubile. She insisted that we have a ****, and after I caressed her and complained too that she was far too young, she insisted that the age of consent in Germany was actually 13 yet she was 16. I remember it clearly. The most gigantuous feelings of pleasure as I mended a studio closet for my dining room furniture inside her ripening channel. Eventually after an hour we finished, she offered me a towel and some biscuits, which I consumed joyously.

Upon leaving her home I remembered that she had said we were in Germany, and so I produced a measure of Deutsch that I had been saving in my repetoir for the right moment. As Finnish is not my strongest language I was pleased of this and became instantly popular among the other candidates of our journey. This  E.T. ride is far different than  I remember it having been. Moments later I awoke quickly, a tuft of her black hair on my eiderdown comforter and a veil of tears from the merriment of glee shrouded over my face. After I rolled and balled into the soft feathers of my bedding, I twisted myself again into a knot, and allowed myself to rejoin the soporific treatice I was aiming for.

This is now where I turn off both lamps and go on watching films of a similar style.

Wishing You The Very Best,

Sir Martin Narrod

I keep my family of conscience
I shred my folly of heir
In case of torment or fondness
I never wear underwear.
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