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Zywa Jan 25
High above the horses' corral, the sun
Cutting in the deserted streets
Shutters closed
No fighters and no smugglers
no silver diggers, no luck

Only angry eyes that have seen her
Men go around with clubs
comb out all the houses
That angel has to leave

I pull her inside, next to my pounding heart
she kisses me until it is over, the dog is alert
and licks her hand, mama is working
dad drinks all day

We wait for the night
I will go with her
away from here, this is not my home
it is a grave, a hollow stone
on which my name never will be
Tombstone, Arizona
(where the “Gunfight at the O.K. Corral” took place)

Collection "The migration"
IncholPoem Jan 15
Roast  the
food  grains.

First  take
maize  crop.

While  roasting   these
your   nose  will
surely  feel
the  smell  of
wall mart
incense  sticks.

Second  and   lastly
take  wheat   grain
on  the  mud

Surely   the  smell
would  be
same  as
you  had
in  Brazilian  Greener
forest  village.
Zywa Dec 2018
I wandered through the village in the woods
of densely formed trunks
and heard that it is not a wood

but a tree, I drank sweet tea
under the ******* aerial roots
and the thick foliage above it

The woman I spoke to, laughed
at my wonder and took my hand
She led me to the middle

where our surrender embraced the trunk
which was too thick for four outstretched arms
The red ribbons touched our head

Back on the terrace on the edge
where the young trunks in the lake
form a living canopy

we saw a flight of parrots
The birds were shouting at us
No Hurry, they yelled every time

when they passed in the bright colours
of their message: No Hurry!
Be Wappy!

Collection “Summer birds”
Zywa Dec 2018
Outside the village is the bridge
without a road, at the cemetery

are sometimes city people
painting it

Occasionally children play there
To me, it is an image

of life and this morning
I came across a woman there

lying on the abutment
She was scared, did not dare

to come with me, because of me
her no man's land was lost to her

For the rest, little happens here
there is never any news

and that is official
Collection "Slow circles"
b e mccomb Oct 2018
oh the joys of idyllic
small town life in this
whitewashed village where
everyone knows everyone
and everyone knows
everyone’s business

where the groceries are
overpriced and the taxes
are high and everyone but
the wife knows he’s cheating

where everything is a scandal
and nobody will admit to knowing
anything but they’ll still talk
about it behind closed doors

there are supposedly prostitutes
on main street but i only ever see
the drunk and drugged out there
and if someone is single there is
someone determined
to find them a match

all and all a very pleasant
charming life we lead here
what with all the arrests
and the highway department
yammering away on things
and the way the tops of the semis
scrape the bottom of the
traffic lights on their way though

something charming about
the way the sides of the buildings
all need a good power washing
and there’s probably lots of
good clean arsenic in
the water supply

a most sleepy
little burg
they say

spend some time
with us and
you’ll find a community
you’ll find a home

you’ll also
find a thing or two
you’ll wish
you didn’t know
copyright 9/24/18 by b. e. mccomb
Chase Graham Sep 2018
There's an eight wheeler,
with ice cold vapor
wisping upward and out toward
St. Mark's street walkers,
crust punks, do they think
of the frozen fish
and chilled shrimps
to the subterranean
Japanese market
I purchase tempura from,
probably not. This scene
is written, it seems,
for me,
my glassy eyes,
a wandering stare
toward a banal
displayed and private.
Steve Page Sep 2018
leave to remain
stay to move on
tear down to build
some space to call home

make new reminders
keep a fresh store
full of faint memories
with room for much more

drink to old allies
drink to forget
laugh with new friends
shake off regret

this is tomorrow
a brand new today
this is fresh start
and you're welcome to stay
There's room. Just shift over.
Steve Page Sep 2018
it's not so much a social force
it's not out to coerce
it's an embrace
and in the end
that's what it's all about
it's a focus on people
it's a focal point on community
a common unity of those entwined
common folk connected and over-lapped
those over-wrapped by common loves
securely bound by common ties
occupying common ground
filling common space
with a wrap-around embrace
that lasts a tight hold longer
that ignores odd body odour
an embrace that lasts
a whole lot together
-  It's what we have
in common
Not sure about the structure of this one.  I compose on a phone screen a lot (rather than on paper or desktop), which leans me toward shorter lines and this has shorter lines than most of my wittering. Anyhow, I may try it again once I get to a desktop.  
#2 Now edited with slightly longer lines and a little reworking, but not much.
Steve Page Aug 2018
Dear Mr Finch,

I visited your village this morning.

I was struck by the lines of greens.
I was smitten by the mighty trees.
I was gripped by the citizens,
by the softness of a hand
placing change with care into my hand
by the ease of each smile,
the feel of less stress
and the kindness I found.
I was touched by the welcome.
They did you so proud.

Yours contentedly,
Steve the Londoner.
Moving my daughter into her flat in East Finchley, London N2.
40 years we have lived in the light and baunty so bright,
then comes 40 Years of darkest night.
Our town sleeps one last time in our lovely homes before we set off for the land of safety and light.
The twilight is here to the town's dismay,
the horrors come forth from the darkest pine-forest beyond our friendly place.
The town here's the evil waking in the dark place beyond and sounds the horns to board the ships that will carry them to safety from this soon-to-be horrid place.
We left a lovely town in the shadows of death,
we will return in 40 years to reclaim what we have left.
Good luck to those who stay behind for we are the lucky ones that flea  from the coming endless night.
Those who stay will face their **** nightmares,
but fear not for we will be back to bury your bones beneath our lovely Town in 40 years.
Whether you're brave or ****** we shall not know.
Death awaits you beneath the snow.
Good luck you poor soul.
Copyright Michael Robert Triska July 2018 This is a Dungeons & Dragons 5th edition game called Endless Night. The players are besieged by all manner of ****** has the 40-year night Falls over the town and the town villagers have all left the village for safer climates.
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