"You take the change they made and stamp it as your own."
Amara

You take falsities like golden coins.
You take the change they made and stamp it as your own.
Shade, variation, and creative designs are rubbish under your eyes.
Importance is only important when it’s green or shiny.
Depending on the donor, the value can change.
People begging you to graze their coins and cast an approving glance.
They know not that you are a fool.
But you are only that, in a teacher’s skin.
You are only a student who learned the incorrect subject.
You are more wrong than a pope with a habit.

"which view to hold for memory’s stamp"
Nigel Morgan

I

Tired
the long road ends
by a sea wall
The engine dies
to cries of estuary birds
to halyards’ wang and tinge
A lake of light set in night’s cloudscape
brims over the western marshland
to seaward a dense darkness
On the ferry’s step
ear close to the brown water
a part-song sings the ebb tide’s flow

II

Threading into the marshland
a braid of cloud-reflected water
of oval sedge and common reed
In amongst the brown canes perspective vanishes
only by mind’s foreshortening or body’s levitation
is there sight beyond the creeping rootstock
By the river path a leaf
pearled with glazed dew glistening
dew grabbing the photographic eye
Standing backs to the horizon
a sculpted triad of bronzed ancestors
watch over the summer rites of music

III

This stoned field
moves clamorously under the feet
waiting waiting for the sea’s kiss
Proud-coloured the boats here
resting poised on railway sleepers
beside their tractored guardians
How to know which way to turn
which view to hold for memory’s stamp
this patient sky this slow exhaling sea
This foreground flow of white-grey-brown pebbles
each sensibly-sized for the hand in the pocket
yet substantially-singular on the window’s sill

2013 marks the centenary of the birth of the composer Benjamin Britten. In 2011 I made a pilgrimage to the part of the Suffolk coast where he made his home and established the Aldeburgh Festival.
"Lick the stamp,"
Evan G

Lick the stamp,

Handwrite your howls,

Wait—no response.

Pour passionate prose into pages

Of letters sent,

No reception.

Am I bundled up in some

Rubber bands struck together

Tear stained but ill timed

Or a charcoal dust that

Did little to warm

cold hands on a distant night.

"and stamp down the earth upon it."
Senor Negativo

The worst thing that could happen to me
Would be to forget you,
to bury this love,
and stamp down the earth upon it.
I find it impossible to let go,
because, right now
you mean far too much to me,
and I to you.
Such feelings cannot be replaced
They can soothe the ache of a wounded spirit,
My fingers gain vigor,
My arms potent strength,
When it is you, that I hold,
I am the Atlas of our love.

"hose breasts have been covered with one stamp each and from the other the woman’s bar"
Barton D Smock

with one finger in his mother’s belt loop the child lowers then lifts then lowers again his free hand without touching once the grocery’s tile.  the long front pocket of his jacket boasts from one end the upper body of a woman whose breasts have been covered with one stamp each and from the other the woman’s bare feet I’m guessing won’t make the trip.  the child’s two younger siblings recognize me from last week when I halfheartedly rolled over them with my cart and they graciously go stomach first to ground with their fists under them as if they’ve been given charge of a rose but are unsure which has it.  the mother looks at me like I am long division to be avoided much the same as I was looked at in my prime.  I have no cart this day so instead I mock stand on the boy and girl making sure my balance keeps me.  the mother says enough and presses the right side of her nose with the back of her wrist which upon removal has on it a spot of blood I follow to her hidden belly button at which the transference clings and then reveals.  I want to tell her my brothers never retrieved a single bright kite from a tall tree nor did they ever pull from their loose and dirty jeans any kind of toad that lived.

"Carefully placing a stamp where you feed"
Hallie Bear

Pressing a chaste kiss to your mouth
Carefully placing a stamp where you feed
Lick the sweet glue
Smiling stretches the sentiment
Your uneven knobs of ivory lightly bump mine
Piano love
Uncertainly swiping another stamp
Applying less precisely this time
A cotton candy tongue seeps out 
The sweet glue seals again
Adding heat, adding pressure. 
Too much more and my lips turn to diamonds
You open your eyes to find two sticky-stamp diamonds, ivory lined. 
Sweet and hot.

The only things I can write lately seems to be love poems of some sort. Help!
"A renegade envelope with no stamp."
Alejandro Medellin

Welcome to the journey, take a seat.
Full of hope and sad defeat.
From my mommas womb,
to my inevitable tomb.
Sit down and enjoy the ride.
Listen before you choose a side.
Im like a sidewalk with too many cracks.
Like war vets with twisted backs.
A cloud full of acid rain.
i write morphine for kids in pain.
I saw the ground move and shake.
I am the liquid in the flowing lake.
Because ive been through it all.
Before happiness i witnessed the fall.
Of me and everyone around.
Drink up and pour a round.
I keep it real like mcdonalds beef.
Bowls of greens and sprinkled keef.
I get bored and i scribble.
A ball that only know to dribble.
A tattered shoe with no soul.
Life is highway and takes its toll.
Know what im saying?
You need to quit praying.
Illegal like a check not signed.
I tell you whats on my mind.
Im the student that can teach.
Not a priest but allowed to preach.
The family hero and peoples champ.
A renegade envelope with no stamp.
I have come back a thousand times.
And dropped sick verses and rhymes.
From my grandma's home.
To the top of my dome.
A beautiful dark twisted brain.
A clean shirt with a dirty stain.
I never make any sense.
Just dollars, checks, and cents.
Whats a car without a wheel?
Or a zoo without seal?
A drink without the cap.
Like a tree without the sap.
A missing boy with no one looking.
A full kitchen with no one cooking.
A piece of pie without the crust.
Like a rich kid without a trust.
Writing his story before the glory.
Its been long and im sorry.
And im sorry to my lungs and liver.
So hot my soul got a fever.
A sticker that missed the glue.
A lie that used to be true.
So plese stand up the ride is over.
If you were drunk then i made you sober.
The Texas poet with a mind of Hemingway.
I do shit my way.
So deuces.
No one wins and no one loses.
You understand? im the prince that shattered.
Im that lonely drop of blood that splattered.

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