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Chris Nov 2010
Tumbleweed
Ted Old
John Merchant,
Joan Harling
Edith Smith
David Wilkinson,
Mike Waldron
Marie Ainsworth
Ruth Bell,
Lucy Ritchie

A list undignified by death
In an instant deflated, unwound
Vibrant yet now not a breath
Missing, lost, not found

I mourn every one of their names
And all that each one implied
Merely a lifetime ago
They came, they lived, they died.

The bluntness has ruined my mood
With the arrogant stealing of life
It demanded all my attention
Then cynically wielded the knife

I'm trying but their voices are fading
As my brain's recordings wear out
And the clarity of all their faces
Is blurred with the pallor of doubt

So all I have now are some photos
Flat caricatures of their lives
Each one replacing my memory
With a past that cannot be revived

Relentless my list will grow longer
Crushing for each name a line
And my heart will grow ever more heavy
Till the last name that's added,
is mine.
Dylan Lane May 2015
Dear, please, listen to what I’m saying I know you don’t want to hear me say that I care. Sweetheart, don’t convince yourself that you are anything but lovely, please don’t let your skin become a sheet of paper but if you do, please come to me and let me see and let me hold you and let me fix it. My dear, your hair is wild, reaching up for the sky trying to fly you away but please never think that it is only prevented by the number on the scale, please never listen to protruding ribcages and Cassie Ainsworth. Darling, you do not need to love yourself in order to have other people love you, and anyone who truly loves you will help you learn to love your own sweet self. And sweetness, your kiss is like chocolate and your fingertips are like sunshine, your tears are like icicles that fall from the roof and every drop that soaks into your bedspread is like an icy dagger pressing against my chest. Baby, you put on your armor- your MCR t-shirt, your crop-top, your baggy jeans, your thrift-store hoodie, your high-waisted shorts. Put on that armor my love because nobody should ever make you feel bad for feeling good. Everything passing through that beautiful head of yours is worthy, valid, real.
everything you are is something for me to love.
We were friends of a sort, when we were young
When we grew, I thought he was weak,
Jumping at shadows in shady lanes,
At jokes that were tongue-in-cheek.
He thought that life was a trap for him
And looked for someone to blame,
He could have been so much more, I thought,
Than he was, and that was a shame.

His soul was timorous, that was true
But he seemed to attract the girls,
They’d give him a shoulder to cry on, when
He was feeling at odds with the world.
They called him ‘Bobby’, that said it all
When he should have been known as Bob,
He never grew to be Bob, I knew
But won their hearts with a sob.

He brought out the motherly instincts in
The girls that he got to know,
They would pet his hair, and say, ‘There there…’
And motion for me to go.
My sweetheart, Carolyn Ainsworth said
That he’d won a place in her heart,
I couldn’t believe she could be so dumb
But her interest tore us apart.

I watched as she moved on into his life
And catered for every whim,
He told me not to approach her then,
She was only there for him.
They moved on into a haunted house
On a plot, with a dog outside,
A wooden house with a creaky gate
Where her grandfather had died.

They married, out on their own front lawn
Then scurried away inside,
He wouldn’t let her out of his sight
But clung to his captive bride.
I never saw her out on her own
He was always there, like a freak,
And pulled her in, like a dog on a leash
Whenever she tried to speak.

I got a note in the mail one day
That was signed by Carolyn,
‘Please come and take me away,’ it said,
‘Oh, what a fool I’ve been!’
I drove on out to the haunted house
But the gate and the doors were barred,
Then she came out to the balcony,
I could tell she was more than scared.

Her eye was blackened and bruised, I saw,
Her lip was swollen and split,
I called ‘Come down!’ and I waved to her,
‘I’ll take you away, my sweet!’
But Bobby came to the balcony
And he dragged her in by the hair,
The doors had slammed and I heard them lock,
And a terrible scream up there.

I vaulted over the creaky gate
And I kicked the front door in,
Then made for the central stair, but fate
Was putting paid to his sin.
A shadowy figure had seized him there
And ****** him against the wall,
Then sent him tumbling down the stairs,
He broke his neck in the fall.

It stood there, glaring down from the top
Then slowly faded away,
I’d never have met her grandfather
If I hadn’t been there that day.
I took her home and I patched her up
But knew that my love had flown,
I see her now and again, she lives
With him in her haunted home.

David Lewis Paget

— The End —