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A woman is like a summer's day.
No. A woman is like snow.
No.
A woman is like a woman.
She is not an object standing in the way.
She is not a thing
Placed on this Earth for men
To worship or disrespect
Or idealise or infantise
Or use to project fantasies
Or disappointments.

A woman is simply a woman,
But, when you meet the right one
And you tend to get things
Poetically-done,
Then you often feel the desperate urge
To write down how she makes you feel
And shout about her to the world
And compare her to everything.
Except other women.
They don't like that.
And who would have thought
That it would be here?
Sandwiched into a backseat
Between a sleeping Chinese man
And a dear friend,
Behind a sleeping couple
Lovingly caught in a snoozy embrace
In a cramped Chinese bus
Amidst a bustling buzzing Beijing
As the sun seeped through
A smoggy winter's sky.

Who would have thought
That it would be here?
Being soothed by her playlist -
A sort of modern mix-tape
Full of love and thought
And desperate longing
And lust, more love
And the most intimate
Of gestures.

Who could have thought
That it would be here?
Here, where an epiphany forms,
Against a sea of weather-beaten, weary and reddened faces,
That my darling, sweet Isabelle
Is made of ******* poetry.
Isabelle rhymes with telly.
Thomas Newlove Jun 2018
When I was a child, on Grafton Street,
My brother and I used to pop bubbles.
We also built great cities and bases,
Arenas of Jenga, where soldiers did battle.

These creations were places of retreat
To escape from childhood pain and troubles.
Now we wear our masks instead of our faces
And herd ourselves onto trains like cattle.

It's hard to pinpoint when the dream truly dies -
The suicide rates will not be televised,
But be assured that your job is distracting
You from your lack of power, hope, and truth.

We live in our own little bubbles of lies,
And now know that life's not as advertised.
You might think that I'm overreacting
Until you have lost all sight of your youth

And all that is left are dogs chasing bones -
Are we anything more than just monkeys with phones
Searching for comfort and love in our loneliness?
Thomas Newlove Apr 2018
Now there's a fine thing.
I looked out my window
And there was the sun,
And it had a fine glow
That made the land sing
As it went to sleep.
It struck the distant sea,
As it was made to do
Before the stars awake,
And the moon began to make
The beauty of the blue
Bring out the best in me,
Reminding me of you.
Thomas Newlove Apr 2018
It seems a while since Jesus died.
Not that I believe in the chap,
But if he were magically real, I'd
Think he'd be appalled at all this crap.

It seems a while since laundries reigned
And women were shamed and sent away,
But, alas, we've lost as much as gained
As men control our fate today.

It seems a while since Markievicz fought,
But still didn't suffer the fate of men.
Different powers today have sold and bought,
But it's power the same as it was then.

It seems a while since rampant abuse -
We thought they'd run out of kids to **** -
Of course, I'm joking, there's always an excuse
To **** and ruck and then not look.

This Easter let's bow our heads and pray
And think about our moral code.
Just kidding, there's ***** on Good Friday -
We'll be hung-over as we erode.
Thomas Newlove Apr 2018
Sitting in the sun,
Watching old movies,
The Australian heat
Washes up against my feet.
The dog shakes off the afternoon
And snoozes by the couch
And all our troubles melt away
Like the ice cream now resting
In our stomachs.
Sweet peace,
The ignorance of it all.
Only at the cost of our minds
Do we chase our tails and sunbathe
On the crisp autumn grass.
Thomas Newlove Jan 2018
And so, my Tweet Verse reaches its sad conclusion.
My characters, though they double in size,
Are fed to the wind,
And a new chapter begins.
Due to the changes to Twitter's character count restrictions, this will sadly be my last 140 character Tweet Verse. I'm not sure how comfortable I am doubling the restriction in poem format. We'll see what the future holds.
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