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This morning's glory warms my heart,
words carried in on strangers' tides
have brought about an easy smile
and planted seed in barren mind. 

These words they linger oft unseen
between the love and broken things
this poet's world a rushing tide,
a surge of flight to tarnished wings.

I'll light another cigarette 
for no-ones keeping score
and pray that ink will always bleed
the words of Nevermore.
I love all poetry posted here, my mornings spent with all your wonderful words. Nevermore is a favourite of mine, in my eyes one of the best we have. This is my way of giving thanks for the gifts he bestows.
 Jul 2014 Nevermore
Ryan Jakes
It took
2 years
1 shrink,
2 consultants,
and several "experts"
to draw the conclusion
that my son is "special"
You'd think with all that book learning
They'd tell me something I don't already know.
How many exams to define love?
How many degrees to diagnose wonder?
How many recommendations of care
before they realise
that I am he
and he is me
and that is all the care we need.
They mean well...
Naïveté played its part, when you almost took my heart.
I was flattered that an older man found something in me.
I heard the gossip, heard the remarks, but, our friendship was to last.
I so naively thought.
The fact that you were married, and I was just 18, meant nothing.
The fact that you were an authoritative figure, also meant little.
We were friends.
But, married men soon need to make a decision
Family or friends?
I loved talking to you, I loved your uniform, I loved our secret.
The way we'd talk all night, your car parked outside my home.
The way I'd come to the old Victorian station, and share a cup of tea.
The way you told me things that you said you couldn't share with her.
The tour of the old holding cells. Eyes lingering on the mattresses.
The kiss you gave me whilst on duty, the blush we shared.
Less than 10 years stood in our way, and a wife.
Then, the crushing blow that she was pregnant, due that snow.
Was I a distraction? From coming to terms with fatherhood?
One last fling, before that ring bit deep on your finger?
I told you no. You transferred. I alone endured the village gossip.
Secrets like ours are doomed before they start,
you were another's.
The ring on your finger played a part in my never giving you my heart
© JLB
22/06/2014
H.P. Lovecraft's most famous quotes about the horror genre is that: "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."

And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
The Waste Land, T.S.Eliot I. The Burial of the Dead


As a child I was never fearful.
Not of the dark, spiders or ghosts.
In fact I was wilful.
Hard hearted, cold.
I liked that about me, it was a barrier to the outside world.
I was the loner, the malcontent, the strange spooky one.
I loved it more as a teen, embraced the Gothic, elevated the bizarre.
I smoked, it was cool, I drank, it was cool, I was nihilistic, it was cool.
Popular meant conforming, how that repulsed me.
Why? Because conformity meant no individuality, no soul.
My Grandmother said once "be careful what you read, it becomes you"
Yeah right, look I'm Pennywise the clown!
But she was right in a way.
I became repulsed by myself.
I had no compassion.
No true love to call my own.
I was alone with my fear, my fear of loneliness. Irony.
I had no true identity, I hid in horror, then became horrified.
I didn't know what was coming, where I was going, who I was.
I was afraid. Truly afraid for the first time.
Afraid of my shadow, of not knowing, of returning to the grave.
Fear is a loathsome creature, devouring love and hope.
Yet, know this, we are born to die, the clock runs down, no appeals.
So fill up on love, fill up on warmth, for Hell maybe hot, but alone,
it's cold*.
© JLB
23/06/2014
Literary historian J. A. Cuddon has defined the horror story as "a piece of fiction in prose of variable length... which shocks or even frightens the reader, or perhaps induces a feeling of repulsion or loathing."
 Jul 2014 Nevermore
Ryan Jakes
My darling you could keep my heart in your locker
but your Dad is a wrestler, your brothers are Dockers,
so on our hot lovin' they have put the mockers
'cause I  don't have the guts to face violent cockblockers.

You like to take selfies
You sure like to ROFL
You taught me of two girls, one cup and blue waffles
Your knowledge is endless on things such as these
If only your brothers weren't so hard to please.

They think I'm a man *****, a bounder, a cad,
a love shy lothario, a bit of a "lad"
on this I won't argue, the point is well made
but I'm young (ish) and ***** and like to get laid.

They think you're an angel
but that's not the case
'cause the photos you sent me
were not of your face....
True story....ish :-)
Cigarette smoke curls upwards,
spiralling into the ether and downwards into my lungs.
I sit looking at the cigarette packet
reading the warning:
Smoking seriously harms you and others around you
How true.
Except, it isn't the cigarettes that have harmed me, it's your lies.
Did you think you'd be able to keep me in the dark?
Did you think me that stupid?
Tut tut, lending me your car, not emptying the ashtray,
didn't think you wore lipstick whilst driving, just sunglasses.
The colour wasn't mine, too brash.
I take the last drag, watch the tip flame orange, and feel the nicotine calm
I pick the Marlboro's up flip the box over, and smile at the irony,
there in bold reads Choose freedom, we'll help you
if I rang the free phone number will they help me dispose of your body?
Your staining my kitchen floor, the nicotine is staining my fingers.
© JLB
25/06/2014
 Jul 2014 Nevermore
Ryan Jakes
"Nothing is sacred" you said, ask away....

Favourite band, colour, song, film, book, poet, author,the list went on
Favourite food, soda, cocktail, ****** position, animal, vegetable, fruit, smell, season, singer, songwriter, tv show..

This endless list of inane questions, hiding the one stuck in my throat like bitter bile.

"What do you see in him?"

Thats the big money question, the answer eludes me whenever I see you together.
Maybe your dappled green sees beauty where my clear blue sees too much ego.
Maybe your heart sings when he kisses your forehead, while my lips ache for the chance.

He doesn't see you, not really, not the you that howls with laughter, head back, snorting with each inhale.
Not the you that pulls weird faces when I take serious calls.
Not the you that I wish was mine...

Only mine.

He makes you different...
Quiet, subdued, Stepford wife.
A good girl. A closed book.
Ignoring his eyes while they wander,
as you avoid the love so obviously in mine.

"Ask me anything" tripped off your tongue
While your expression and the way you shifted said
"Just don't ask me that"

Nothing is sacred.
Except you.
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