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Johnny walker Jan 10
All my live I've been clutching at straws but always seemed to have drawn the short
one
whatever did to whatever
I tried always the short straw for me, failed In almost all that I tried till the day I met
her
she the girl who turned my life around but the day I lost her since that
day
I feel I'm now drawing the short straw again so much was the love I had for her so guess I'll go back to clutching at straws
Life has been like clutching at straws always chose the short one
Gary Brocks Aug 2018
We spread our blanket on uneven
ground, bodies embracing in descent,        
                       They lay on the boxcar floor,
                        fingers twisted, clutching slats.
transfixed by the spell of evening,
limbs entwined, interlaced,
                        Barbed wire pressed punctured palms
                        faces creased as old photographs.
We stretched in dawn’s light,
poured coffee out of cups,
and left as it merged with the dust.
                         bones upheave turf and loam
                         fingers grasping, sheathed in soil.

Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks
180828F

At the time of writing, the war in former Yugoslavia was occurring. Pictures of ethnic extermination camps, barbed write, mass graves, Happeing again. Happening despite the awareness and vows after the holocaust, that such things must never be allowed to happen again. An awareness that had grown stale. Do the horrors of history, even in our ignorance or innocence, ultimately make even the smallest of our acts, some how complicit?
Alena Jun 2014
it is very late
I hold onto
your arm

& our shadows wither in the
sunset

& you spin me
around
in the unreal
movie screen way

& I feel
for a moment
in the crazy
tight warmth
of you

my shaking
reflection in the
water

doesn't have
wounds

it has wings

so I hope
you never
release me
About love.

— The End —