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neth jones Dec 2023
blood                                                  
blood patter and splash                            
leads us         concrete toward
tracing back        til the scene        
i’ve flashing thoughts of the brutality
   the violence     that must of cussed  
  between persons            
         in fear    fray    and inebriation

down the steps                                     
            my four year old child and I go          
the greasing bleed     in bronze putters  
growing and leadening
on stone labours

glowing citrus    the refrigeration
                          of the underpass
          ‘flips the bird'   at the summer blaze
grey dead coral bricks of urination  
seasoned in deep   beading now cold
the broke up weapon                        
                   candy slates of brittle teeth
glass / bottle / beer /brown
    the neck its' hilt              
     and the main mud of the bleeding

the flies are the thing                                
                         th­at bothers my ‘little nipper’
usually a flapper of queries on repetition
no other queries are raised
     just eager for the vibration
      of train carriages gatling over our heads

i stopper any words i may have on the matter
  he holds my hand with his hot hand
we progress under a port arms                                   
                            procession of caged floodlights
      and walled in by fresh graffiti
fingers dripping   retching for the guttering
Observed 23/06/23

unused -

on thickened walls      painted on over and over
by the neighbourhood watch
a  narrowed burrow
Bardo Nov 2023
The Irish Summer (i.e. when you  only get the sunshine) is a very elusive thing
But having lived in Ireland all my life I figured it out many years ago
Although there may be some freakish weather events like the occasional heatwave
The Irish Summer lasts from the end of the English soccer season to the start of the Wimbledon tennis tournament (when the covers go on)
Those few short weeks
Then it reverts to being a mixed bag of sunshine and showers
So whenever Wimbledon starts up I always get out my thin flimsy shower proof coat
It's lovely and light so you won't be sweating
And I also have my little umbrella handy too.

Now I'm always telling people my theory of the Irish Summer
Whether they believe it or not
There's a young guy I work with and I told him my theory
Then awhile later we had to attend this big work event/meeting
It was held in Croke Park (the Gaelic football stadium) in Dublin
We were up in the Executive boxes overlooking the pitch, was really cool
We had walked there as it wasn't too far from our office
I had my showerproof on and had my little umbrella
My young workmate was just wearing a black leather jacket and had no umbrella
I thought to myself "Man, you're living dangerously"
Sure enough when we're walking back to the office
The heavens open and it ****** down on us
I'm standing there under my umbrella smiling in my showerproof
While my young friend is standing there like a drowned rat, the saddest sight
And I say to him "What did I say, didn't I tell you about the Irish Summer ?"
Then I say "Did you ever read the story of Noah's Ark ?"
I felt sorry for him and let him share my umbrella.

And the ****** still hasn't bought a showerproof
He's impossible.... he's obviously still... a non-believer.
This summer and autumn as well must have been one of the wettest ever in Ireland, was a real wash out.  But there was a few good weeks there just before Wimbledon, my theory is waterproof LoL.
Kyla Nov 2023
The air was sweet and crisp
The sun was bright and warm
My heart was full
On a summer day

The world seemed right
My life complete
Happiness defined
On a summer day

Grey clouds appeared
Rain with my tears
Broken and lost
On a summer day

I walk away from joy
I fall away from love
I trip on my fallen spirit
On a summer day

I have become a shadow
I am the rain
I lost my life
On a summer day
James Rives Nov 2023
i'm a very hot & cold, all-or-nothing person, and i hate feeling stifled and like i'm not being heard, so i type my insecurities into this ****** little digital void and sometimes call it poetry
neth jones Dec 2023
clipping a trail
  through the un-mown grasses of prehistory
i am reduced and nuded 
  by the buoyant vat   of sky baby blue

the grasses seed the heels of my work clogs
spiking sensory jabs through my socks
      a shy petting of pain

with the prow of my stride
  tiny residents vault scut and flutter
neatly evading   un panicked

radiating wet heat raises to my waist
i stop my destructive wading
i am slit, vulnerable and fed
i am primitive and free
i have membership
my uniform   banished

i take in a humid breath

about face
       and the illusions are switched
the buildings icon dominates
       and draws my responsibility
i can smile at the wash of life
       and reinstate myself in paid labour
28/08/23
neth jones Oct 2023
traffic trodden crab apples
                            and choke cherries
                 sluice the sidewalk
not one wasp observed

the wasps this year are found
not around    human food or trash cans
( sugar drunk, bat angry or absurd )

this year they thrive around cut grass
and chippings from outdoor furniture finishing

with this appetite
what are they prepping for ?
20/09/23
Unpolished Ink Sep 2023
Scarlet dancing poppies
ruffled skirts flung high
pansies and geraniums
nod to an August sky
foxglove mint and rosemary
move with the wind and sway
a summer garden party
and a fragrant cabaret
xjf Sep 2023
It was a long bus ride
And the **** plastic sheet seats
Were cracking from abuse and freeze
We all kept warm with conversations
And secrets
And scandals in the back row

The era of shame
My own propaganda
Selling me on the idea
That I should carry everyone's.
Sourness
Sins
Shame

That bus was wretched
With the stench
Of frozen sweat
And regret

Despite it all
I could find any single one of you
And we'd exchange
Untouchable moments
Memories of the heart
Strung along that tattered pavement

Here's mine

It was in your eyes
That I saw myself shine
For across that opaque pane
I witnessed your thought
"this guy is interesting"

You and your curly raven rings
Asking about my fixations
Changed the course
Of who I see
when I close my eyes

I've never seen you since that summer
I've never sat behind you again
Can't even recall the name
Can't remember if we won the game
But you're a warm tea I get to sip
When it comes across my mind
No loose ends
No ***** stains
Just the sun breaking the squall
And the summer of ****** football
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