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Birthed in a time of strife

In the dark hours of life

This letterbox is royalty

A sign of British loyalty

Embossed with a sovereign’s initials

Tended by government officials

G for George, R for Rex, the wartime king.

Embedded in a wall near the town of Killin.

Its gaping mouth, a humourless line

Devouring mail like a godless shrine

Day after day, swallowing with gravity

Good news. Sad news. Joy and tragedy.

Precious words that someone will savour

All taste the same on pristine white paper.

No guarantee of safe arrival

Fickle chance drives the art of survival.

Father to daughter, the years float by

Elizabeth ascends with a world-weary sigh

The writers of letters fade slowly away

Texts and emails the comms of the day.

Born in a time of worldwide strife

The box now reaches the end of life.

Fresh bricks mark its place in the ancient stone wall

Its service just memory few can recall.
Steve Page Mar 4
we missed
Pease see other side for details

Where is your parcel now?
We left it in your safe place
We left it with your neighbour
We still have your parcel
We'll try again tomorrow
Poetry Found on my doorstep.  Prompted by
Michael Mar 2
One morning safe in barracks while sitting on the loo,
Our Colonel, who'd put duty first, was wondering what to do.
Now, he'd sounded out the adjutant and the R.S. M.
He'd asked that pair what did they think would occupy the men.
They had answered 'drill, sir. Men love parade ground stuff'.
But the Colonel, after consultation, thought they'd had enough.
Their morale it should be lifted, satisfaction thus enjoyed.
'We must not have the men abused, but gainfully employed'.

Thus, next morning doing block jobs, the diggers were astonished
When told by sergeant of platoon that toilets must be polished.
''Tis for honour and the Company's pride' he'd said to busy soldier
'And pleased it is you'll be my boy before you're too much older.
That instead of stamping feet on square or theory of the gun,
Or concealment from an enemy, or stalking (which is fun),
You will spend your time with elbow grease each morning here with me,
Polishing taps and porcelain and cleaning lavatory'.

So that every week when CO. comes to look at WC.,
Accompanied by the Major and all the powers that be,
And they poke round toilet ledges, check louvred slats for dust,
These expert, fighting officers smelling drains because they must
Ensure their Colonels wish, and we to quench our Major's thirst,
So that of Battalion's toilets it's his that comes in first.
And young, fit, soldier volunteers, now feeling ****** annoyed,
Are to be denied all training to be gainfully employed.

But enough of silly moralising, holier than thee.
Who finally beat up all the rest for champion company?
Well, that was Sergeant Kusba, who were a devious swine.
He'd doctored water closets so they smelled like table wine.
Well, 'twer lemon essence really, after which one could not flush.
And a secret guard on toilet bowls to ward off morning rush.
Which was borne by me and Sergeant Glen 'til trickery did we smell,
After which we cornered Kusba in the Mess and gave him ****.

So we as well began to use the lemon essence trick.
We all professed to satisfy but thought our Colonel thick,
As he stood at water closet breathing deeply, satisfied,
The diggers standing by their beds all laughed until they cried.
And the CSM., cognisant, fed up as much as we,
Served the Colonel and his minions a scrumptious morning tea.
Whilst they stood relaxed and at their ease upon our polished floor,
Between ***** trough on one side, on the other, closet door.
I couldn’t get the people in my life
To care,
So I tried winning the hearts of strangers.
Rafał Jan 14
I thought I was in love but it turned out to be ****.
It’s always the same way when I turn to bust a nut.
I felt the butterflies, but I think I drowned them all
In the bath of tea and the sea of alcohol.

How should I keep on loving girls?
All I look for is a bit of a cheap thrill.
I adore your looks and your mimics are so cute
But it goes away when the *** leaves my flute

Now my mind is clear and I no longer starve
I used to be turned on, but now it makes me ****.
Why are conversations always super hard?
Girls barely say anything, I always have to talk.

But I don’t care, got my hand, a box of tissues by the bed
And five minutes later I can finally comprehend
All the subtle needs programmed in my body
That it’s the hormones talking when they tell me to be naughty.
Van Byrde Oct 2018
her heart beats a tattoo
against my belly
her head rests
against my chest

giving love to a monster is taboo
and when she does it,
she thrills me
again and again and again
aiMaureen Dec 2018
Walking as slow and fast as I can
Breathing in and out as much as i can
Searching people's faces as i walk by
Seeing the wide simple smile and head nod which i know is a way of being nice
I can't tell how they feel at that moment
Are they ok?
Is all well at home?
Do they have real friends?
Are they screaming for help even though they look at me and smile?
Are they in abusive relationships?
Do they have loan sharks pounding at their door day and night ?
Do they like their skin?
Are they happy with what they see in the mirror?
I can't tell
Because they have a mask on
That mask, very deceiving and addictive
Once you have it on a couple of times
It becomes you, you can't let it go
You find yourself thanking the stars for that mask
That hides your pain and protects you at the same time
We all wear a mask everyday
We just pretend like we don't.
Kaylee Ann Dec 2018
Your touch is gentle
Yet, I tremble
You make me blush
But, the onrush of my past becomes equal
My mind outcasts your good intentions
Your charm could win masses
But, the harness of my fear provokes alarms
My mind is a dangerous weapon that I only use on myself
Which throws spears into my brain
Please, come in
Break down my walls
Make yourself at home
Take my pain away with your love
Drive through this rough terrain called life
Revive me
As I nose-dive into your love.
sya Nov 2018
youth is cruel and it break bones and leave your heart scattered on the ground like crumpled petals of cherry blossom. sixteen was a blazing sunset when the world was all painted in bright orange, and the next second i realized there's something different in the way you smile. at seventeen you called me lavender, paris' light, andromeda and for the love of god i swear i'd give anything to hold your hand in eternal sixteen and witness the beautiful sunset before it's dark.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
cliche. click
I'm lost without you

you glanced my way and said,
"how do you know?"

I don't.
I won't.
I can't.

You glance away and say,
"maybe so."

Life's the test.
stand alone or be rejected
the subject of the action word
conjecturing the meaning

Hector's pride brought the mass.
Was that made sacred? Yechhh.

Higgs's made real,  massive change
end of the world
as we knew it, 2012, mass means more than x-mas

The message in the messenger from Greece's God,
"Hold fast, hold on, Hector, be
hold-- what a drag"

Achilles, shoulda had anger management.

Suppose, Achilles's momma had trusted
whatever the protection was to be,
divine, that kind o' dad,
it warn't gonna let 'im drown.

She coulda just tossed 'im in,
sink or swim, knowing, in her inner parts,
the protector's promise,
memorized, since the red tent.

Pandora's last hope trumps fire,
and flood,

Wee Achilles woulda squirmed, and swam,
invincible, every inch soaked,

it could been, but, you know,
Achilles's momma could not let go.

And the rest is mythtery.

the sign said follow the money,

but money is invisible, so I played like
I could see what other folk

Lot o'them took time to tell me,
"Only believe", or "trust, and obey".
Streets of gold,
we'll slide back
down on silk stockings
hung on spider thread

above the flames

that boil the kettle in the center of
the whole round world,

nobody in our family ever once
believed the world is flat,

nor that Jesus once was blue and had four arms,

stop me.
I was wrong, I, myself, can imagine
Jesus dressed as Rama,
who was blue and had four busy arms, in truth.

hallowed ev'ening of the light,
settling sun, lead in the night, when all
see monsters, every where,

no on will notice me. Watch and see.

OH OH, ****** me by my pigtail, lift me to the third
floor, two stories past tellestial,
kingdom come,
which the mormon at my door testified
the angelic ***** had told Brigham 'n'em,

in the spirit, he agreed, not face to face.

tellestial is as close to **** as a Mormon man can go,
he said, "If you could see it, you'd die to go.
It's so much better than this."

Joe Smith, said that, according to his agent.

I pondered,
chewed a cud, as I could recall, holy cows do.

I leaned back, put one boot to rest,
on the bricks behind my knee,

A modified Crane pose, I suppose.
I folded my arms and stared that boy
right in the eye.

I said, "Wanna try?"
"We gotta bridge up the road a piece,
sure as haell,
we'll see if it's a lie, at least."

Then I repented.
That **** imagined by Joe and all them zionic-messengers,
they was guesses, at the best. But the feelers at my door,
they was bein' tempted
to put their own faith to the test.

I grow bolder. The experiment worked.
I know.
Same ol' story...

-She said it tasted,
first time that word was ever heard or tasted.

****, cold, evil, winter, summer, sweat, mosquitos, evil cold,
I'm sorry!

How do you know?
What's blame?
Oh, that, and shame, I know that,

epi genetically be guile-ish. gullibility
gone in one bite.

Taste and see, he saw her say, or thought
he did

Like a switch, with more capacitance,
than the cells of knowing can resist,
in the first few months of being matter in time.

Knock a fella in the head
with knowing all the hows of evil,
along with all the why of not,

the most beautiful woman in the world,
no contest,
*****, and he knows.

Thinkin' straight ain't in the plan.
Precedent set forever,
no plan survives first sight of a ***** woman after learning what ***** means,

according to the tutor in blame,
who sat glumly on Adam's shoulder
explaining as the jist
of the story unrolls, "***** is evil,
you are *****", no word, just

good luck if yer helpin' him stand,

spoken words heard and
obey essence initial instantiation

oops, Idols. The idea of idols. Don't imagine anything like that.

Gabriel came with that very message all over his face.

Knowin' evil and doin' it, not the same.
Learn to drive and do the math,

Then we talk about artifice beyond the ken of mortal minds,
not worry,
it is written, We have the mind of Christ,

but as an augmentation really,
we can fact check,
but, honest,
a heretic has to use any augmentations right,
or the being powers will

objectify his reason for being, and reject him, for

the sin of defining the happiness he ensues.

You with me?
This was to be my comment,
but it called out for search engine priority of purpose

Nothin', I was thinkin' --
we never get trick or treaters,
tho' an occasional Mormon team will try to climb my hill,
then I un cussed my thoughts
with my inner self and we agreed.
He who would catch fish,
must venture his bait.
Net criticism's needed, if anything is to get better than this.
Wise ones say, it ain't easy,
but true rest,
I can testify, it's found along the way.

Hallowed be your even-ing, level up,

trick or treat?
not on that old man's hill,
somethin' weird, too peaceful there.
Nothin', I was thinkin' -- we never get trick or treaters, tho' an occasional Mormon team will try to climb my hill,then I un cussed my thoughts with my inner self and we agreed. He who would catch fish, must venture his bait. Net criticism needed, if anything is to get better than this.
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