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I come from sunlight,
      The sweeping of leaves,
      South London streets,
      Lurburnum seeds;
      Hot semolina,
      A spoonful of jam,
      Hands full of gooseberries,
      That's who I am.

      I come from rose petals,
      The sound of the fairs,
      The smell of candyfloss
      Mist in the air;
      I come from warmth,
      My parents hands,
      Outings to parks,
      Both small and grand.

     I come from knowledge,
     True and false,
     From nursery rhymes,
     And stories and pictures of God;
     I come from gentleness,
     A quiet afternoon,
     From visions of loveliness,
     Sewn on a spool.

    I come from two worlds,
    With different ways,
    A threaded pearl necklace,
    And sensible soles
    A mother and father,
    I think I knew,
    I came and I wandered,
    I looked at the view.

       By Mary **
Poem inspired by the Slam poets on BBC
  Jun 2018 sheila sharpe
Brandon Conway
A sweltering run through the pastoral streets
Past the chemical plant and decrepit machinery
A couple miles trekked for nature's delicious treats
Incardine specks and black dots poke through thick greenery

Step over the ditch into the smokey mud
Stick your hand in carefully, the cost just a little blood

A blackberry picked from the protective thorn
is sweeter than one picked from the grocery store
  Jun 2018 sheila sharpe
Brandon Conway
It was a warm June night
Swaying between two trees
You laid your head on my chest
The leaves whispered its sweet breeze
The lantern was set to low
While we read about that giant peach
Fireflies giving us a show
The AC shut off with a screech
You lifted your tiny head
Do you remember what you asked me?

Why do we never see mommy anymore?

Instead of telling you about the horror of drugs
I told you about the peace in death.
I love your hands
So beautiful
So strong
The way your fingers dance
upon the fretboard
as you play a song
The tenderness in your fingers
as they caress my cheek
something you always do
before drifting off to sleep
The warmth
of your hand
as I take yours in mine
As we stroll through the bush
birds singing
the weather fine
How gentle they are
As you hold
our grandbaby in your arms
Nurturing
full of love
and always so calm
Playing the guitar
made your hands strong
I love their beautiful shape
your loving fingers long
Never was into hands until I met my husband
  Jun 2018 sheila sharpe
Lyn-Purcell
Dissect yourself. Get down to the root
of what your demons use as their
sustenance, and cut
it out.
Easier said than done, I know.
Rip out the causes of by the root and your demons will wither and die.
Be back soon!
Lyn ***
They dipped in Serpentine with shoes
The leaves of Autumn sail side up
And children, four, remember now
In pleasure, wind swept, hair filled days.

Love Mary xxxx
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