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Bobs Balderdash
A partial autobiography in observations,
and poems.
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Carried along by the flow
of events
and my own uncertainties.
Unable to call a halt.
I barely manage to duck and dive
to avoid
disaster and dissolution.
A pilgrimage many are enduring:
few with reliable guides.
Currently fog-bound, still afloat
but
expecting shipwreck any second.
This voyage is unexpected:
some incomprehensible lottery win?
Not detailed in any brochure.
I hesitate to call it life.
unshine.
Shade:
Holidays.
You come into the world alone.
You leave the world alone.In between
you bump into lots of people.
Three in the morning.
Fridge busily humming.
Clock tick tock ticking.
Cat emphatically purring.Silent night.
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The pattern is broken,
the rainbow has gone:
the prisons still standing(the bars are too strong).
The darkness is coming
and obstacles loom:
perspective is narrowed
in the sickening gloom.
The exit is hidden,
the entrance is closed.
You trip, fall and stumble
on the problem thats posed.
Theres no hope for no-one;
no answering call;
always the question
Whats the point of it all?
A chain of new heartaches
brings a mental recall:
the nightmare conclusion
theres no point at all.
I asked for a stiff drink-
They served me ice cubes.
Fill in the _______ word.
A more frequent use of the term
NO,
will enhance everyones
lifestyle.
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The clock behind me
ticks in the corner:
Empty room.
I switch on the coal fire:
No heat.
Comforting reminiscences:
Inner glow.
The washing machine was on.
Tray filled with soap and Comfort.
Drum filled with clothes: male and female.
Theres something soothing about the
flop and slop of washing accompanied
by the electric motors hum.
Perhaps an association withold fashioned Saturdays
and a busy Mum.
Whatever.
I feel comforted.
Haiku:Waiting to get into a cable-car?
I saw that life
was unpredictable,
verging on the chaotic.
So I closed the window.
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Man is born free.
But everywhere he is in comfort.
SHORT POEM
P..m
I went to the enlightened one.
He enquired if I was earnestly seeking truth and wisdom.
I agreed that I was lost
but I was looking for the nearest MacDonalds.
Completely and utterly
OTT and over the limit.
Passed caring and beyond redemption.
Stressed liver and befuddled brain.
Another sip.
Another swallow.
The teeth of pain forgotten
in a
gentle numbness.
If only
there was another way
to feel comfortable
with oneself.
If I die,
think only this of me......
Hes gone!
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........................and the gods are silent
Pages turn empty
in once written books.
A torn face with torn tearsnobody looks.
Still a yearning and striving
to run the good race, but
no echoed salvation
nor awareness of grace.
Just babbling thoughts;
memories melodic;
second-hand hope;
circuitous logic.
Ephemeral morsels:
nothing to sate.
The gods keep their silence
mans ubiquitous fate.
I thought she was magic
then she disappeared into
someone elses arms.
Like a fishing rod with no line:
I go through the
motions.
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Why do fishermen make good computer programmers?
Theyre used to networking.
It was a case of the magnet calling
the kettle back.
Here I Sit
Touched by the wind
(a mere garden breeze)
they flex and bend
effortlessly.
Shivering with life as though
more than green foliage and stem.
Now immobile -
just standing as though waiting,
until
caressed to life again.
Suggesting more than
dumb vegetation.
If I didnt know any better,
Id say that I was sane.
Its just a nagging doubt remainswhen confronted by such pain.
Soul searchingwhen you cant find your shoes.
I cant act: therefore I ham.
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In my head
Im a gallant knight in shining armour,
an organic farmer.
In my head.
In my head
Im the star of every drama,
a bon vivant and charmer.
In my head.
In my head
Im the hero with many faces,
winner of Olympic races.
In my head.
In my head
Im a husband like no other,
a perfect son with perfect mother.
In my head.
In my head
Im a man of many talents,
whos restored the cosmic balance.
In my head.
In my headI find answers to every question
using god-like comprehension.
In my head.
In my head
I think Im out of
my mind.
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She was bored on Tuesday afternoons.
But she kept it a secret from her husband.
The look of the world
through the bottom of a glass
Fuzzed
and distorted.
Mind elsewhere
and preoccupied.
Clarity of perception
Is not my middle name,
Nor dreamless awarenessthe goal of the game.
What sort of state
will a mirror make
when musing
on lifes improbable and uncertainties??
Dare you venture
into realms where literature only spawns
nightmares and the living dead?
And youre left to feelyour own intransigence / will to live
as an aberration?
What if....
What if....
What if....
You hope so hard and yet know the
CONSEQUENCES.
Life with death
Rock with RollSwings with roundabouts.
Funny......
Really sort of weird.....
But life
Is JUST LIKE THAT!!
Dont let them tell you otherwise
Theyll lie...
And pretend to
Ordinariness.
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In the case of armed conflict:
The biggest biceps always win.
She shot herself so many times in the foot,
she no longer had a leg to stand on.
At 12.25 am on the 20thJanuary 1950, I dropped out of my mothers womb.
And its been downhill ever since.
My angel sleeps
curled in nocturnal comfort
Oblivious of tomorrows
demands and contingencies.
Sleep on, my noble
compatriot.
You deserve morenot less of my
attentions.
What do they make of us
big and loud and brash.
Creatures bound to the earth
unable to swoop and soar?
What do they make of us
As they peer down from chimney,
tiled apex and swaying bough?
What do they make of us
Purveyors of titbits, hauliers of
abundant harvests from land and sea?
What do they make of us
Creatures of plenty but unwilling toShare the air with them?
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Graphic Poem 1
Begin...
...End
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Graphic Poem 2
blank page
few words:
a meeting place
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Midnight kitchen
Party over
Somewhere, dripping
Winter bus stopSilent queue
Haiku arriving
Rhythm of the clock
Pulsing blood
Headache
I open my eyes
First thoughtIts morning!
Early December
Broken washing machine
Why now?
Soaps on TV
Such intensity
My cats sleeping
December afternoon
Cigarette smoke
The same colour as the clouds
My cat
Eating his biscuits
Thinking of sparrows
Half-asleep
Noisy neighbour
Acrobatic gnat.
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Graphic Poem 3
STARTor maybe
STOPor even
continuecontinuecontinuecontinuecontinuecontinuecontinue
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Graphic Poem 4 : Scandinavian poem
START
FINNISH
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Graphic Poem 5
My life:
Strictly compartmentalised.
Who said that?
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Graphic Poem 6
Im a man of few words
also few letters
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House asleep
Stirring coffeeSo loud!
B
ack door openCats in then outHidden agendas
Warm summer rainOn the patioA bedraggled worm
Autumnal morningEverything still
Except a Magpie
Faint musicFrom another roomLanguid thoughts
Damp grey morningVisitor with flowersSomeone re-assured
Grey duskGarden growing dulled greensMid-December
Grey hair down toilet
Trimmer on chargeSpending cuts!
Seeing the words appearAs if by magicWriting!
Writing on the pageTalking to myselfNow talking to you
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Proud and upright and unrecognised -
our rooftop sentinels.Spaced against the sky,
Stiffly silent in their unquestionable duties.
More than brick and mortar,
more than architectural style,
more than domesticated functionaries:
unacknowledged urban guardians.
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Clearly not connected:
Wires broken, pipes blocked.
No battery for the radio,
the connecting door is locked.
The aerial has long been missing,the screen is white-noise blank.
The handset doesnt function,
its Snafu to be quite frank.
Time to shut the curtains.
Time to close the case.
Time to pay the ferryman
and to see the other place.
Self mutilation: A cut above the rest?
We are born
and we will die.
The question is:What happens in between?
To be human
Is to know what
you
cant have.
If we were always happy,
the drug companies wouldnt
make
a profit.
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Entranced by the melodies of
dishwasher and washing machine,
I sit alone.
Its easier to be
miserable
on your own.
I was under the apprehensionthat I must be somebody.
But I looked in the
mirror
and reflected......
An image. No icon.
A transparency.
A disturbance in the ether.
Here now.
And then:Gone.
Like countless others
Visitors only.
Monochromed horizon.
Agitated skeletons.
Discarded golden flakes.
Autumn.
TO HELL NOW NON-SMOKING
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range cat
On orange carpet.
Safe from eagles!
idnight kitchen:
The tap drips
to remind me Im alone.
wo a.m.
A coffee, a cigarette
and a purring cat
he scalpel cuts.
The flesh responds to its insistent demand.
Parting
is such sweet sorrow.
peak to me only with thine eyes
shouted the deaf teacher
to the pupil.
spy with my little eyesomething beginning with
monocle.
shop therefore I am, said the poster-
being very economical
with the truth.
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Snowdons summit.
Waiting for the train:
High queue.
I thought filofax was knowing about pastry,
Until I visited a stationers.
I arrivednot knowing what I was looking for.
Inevitably I never found it.
In the land of the blind, a one-eye man is king.
But not if hes deaf.
How time flies when....
Youre an astronaut.
A grain of sand on the beach of humanity.
Even with his eyes closed,
he couldnt see in the dark.
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Is a shop a currency converter?
Especiallyinthecaseofpoetryspacesbetweenwords
mediatedifferentnuancesandsubtletiesinmeaning
The correct English is not
who knows, but whose nose.
Roses are red,
violets blue.
For this to be haiku,
theres more work to do.
Existentialism is the pause
between choices.
Small is beautiful.
Big is large.
Truth is stranger
than friction.
Cash. Bang. Trollop.
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Make
the present
a present
to yourself.
Mapping the contours of heartbreak.
The circle is a curious thing.
It has no beginning
nor seems to end,
and always insists
on going round the bend.
There is a book entitled 101 things to do before you die.
Easily simplified to LIVE!
Two swallows dont make a summer
But they may cure hiccups.
That was zen this is now.
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Who, what, where, whytell me, tell me before I die?
Am I a husband, parent, son.Executive earning a tidy sum?
Am I a lover? Am I a friend?(A deluded fool going round the bend?)
Am I a neighbour sharing the view?(Who sometimes lends his tools to you?)
Am I a failure and a boorish fart?(Considering my life as a work of art?)
Telling jokes to earn a smile.
Happy? Well for a while.
So, on this earth will I leave my markor is this thought to counter the dark?
Do you call this confusion being alive?Tell me please, Im now fifty five.
Too much and too little to say or tell.
Memories peer round unguarded moments,thoughtful minutes, introverted hours.Regrets for actions done and missed.Questions without redemption.
The pencilled page betrays the whole:Words and sentences, all false trails.
The phone promotes the trivia ofaccidents: inoffensive veneers.
Is it possible to send ones lovesilently through the ether?To cherish without touching?
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Many hands make light work.
Many feet make a mile.
Haiku: the art of compression.
Nurdle: stupid person blocking your progress.
If you have your wisdom teeth extracted,
does your IQ suffer?
Roses are red,
violets blue.If youre colour blind
does it matter to you?
THOUGHT FOR TODAY:
Im awake.
Ifyou left with nothing
You came in with too much.
One ego short of a religion.
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Dont volunteer unless you have to.
Ice is just water thats
having a rest.
If you give things away
You make space for more.
Trousers on the washing line
awaiting my legs
to be fulfilled.
He communicates with me
purrfectly,
but he still cant go out.
I collect broken pencils
pointless really.
I only asked a farewell kiss
to take away with me
A memory of our time of bliss
and subtle ecstasy.
But as you have refused
to give just a little peck.I want to take you by the hand
and wring your faithless neck.
So, from now until eternity
to cure my aching heart.
My diet will be beans, beans, beans.
To remind me youre a fart.
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I cried and criedAnd the world was busy
How could they not hear me?
It seemed so OTT:
To slash my wrists
Stub out cigarettes on my hand
Smash my head against a wall.
They must think I can cope
But
They cant know how hard it is:
To see ones failures
Mistakes
Embarrassments
Rejections
Defeats
Paraded before ones minds eye
Over and over again.
I . . . . . . . . . .
ignored .
my .
intuition .
and .
fell .
off .
the .
cliff . . . . . .
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Heart to Heart
I asked my heart, Please stop beating.
(I was in despair).
It listened, considered my request
but regretted it couldnt comply:It had agreed to a fixed
term contract
and was unable to make unilateral changes.
I meandered
and reflected - wed been together now
for over sixty years.
I felt guilty and apologised for not
paying due care and attention,
even,
being rather careless with my health.
My heart smiled and said
he bore no grudge.
It was the way things were
in the modern world.
He would keep working
until his contract ended.
No more, no less.
I dared not broach the question
of how much longer,but commented
that when he retired,
so would I.
I said I hoped had enjoyed his
work, although I doubted it.
He simply smiled and replied
that he did his job,
sometimes under arduous circumstances.
Nevertheless, he wouldnt change it for the world.
He didnt look forward to retiringnor to our
parting.
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ENCRYPTIC
No-one
Nobody
No
Know
The smooth lines of your contours
Hold me in their spell.
Without that touch and soft caress
Life seems an endless hell.
The warmth, the scent, the hormonesExcite my timid heart,
And cause a sense of longing
Which words can ner impart.
I always want to whisper words
Of loving and of care.
Of holding hands and kisses,
Exchanged in summer air.
But now the time is over
To show you what Id like.Your final words were clear enough
Get on your bleeding bike!
I imagine
Im an undiscovered philosopher.
But then
who isnt?
The Virginia Creeper is avaricious:
Half the garage
has gone already.
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WHERE ITS AT:
I know no rhyme nor reason
to assign any
particular importance
to any
particular event or experience.
In life
all is, as it is:
No more, not less.
Assuredly transient,
unfathomable in part.
To expect more
methinksbetokens hubris.
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Flamboyant dancer:
Candle in the wind.
He watched TV.
She looked at the clouds.
Seeing is believing
Consequences
The fruit oflife
Upstairs tap dripping.
Downstairs clock ticking:
Resonance.
Thoughts on pieces of paper.
Did the trees foresee their destiny
in my literary explorations?
He leapt
from one perplexing failure to the next.
His articulated intensions were admirable,
but his grasp of brute facts,
embryonic.
Frustration and dissatisfactions
were
inevitable.
Fate had already set the parameters
and his life
unfolded.
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Here today. Gone tomorrow.
A life of joy with pain and sorrow.
A mixture
not in equal parts.
The heart is pierced with different darts.For Cupids not the only bow
in use, as many know.
Arrows of doubt, despair and fear
are oftimes more than one can bear.
No poultice can prevent the pain
when poison reaches heart, mind, brain.
These archers unknown, with reasons unclear,
persist in exacting a price so dear.
For eons they have waged their art,aiming to break the human heart.
For those who are wounded
(but not with loves dart),
who look for an answer, complete
or in part.
Ill be quite honest and open with you:
for myself, I search for one too.
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What am I doing
burying a bee in a matchbox?
Carefully wrapped in a bed of rose petals.
Wondering if it is good enoughor should I have done more?
Dead in my garden, far from his hive.
No longer surrounded by his fellows.
A focussed life:
Buzzingly busy for the common good.
No complaints.
No slacking,
just up and at it from dawn til dusk.
I cannot fathom his dedication.
Im sorry to see him dead,
no longer scooting across the lawn
from one flower to the next,
day after day.
The sunlight seems lessened
without him.
I guess I simply fail to comprehend
the facts of life
and death.
Soothing dusk.
Falling asleep on the sofa.
Wary of the cuckoo clock.
I was tired
and wanted to sleep
but stayed awake
to write this ?
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Does the ant
make a mountain
out of a molehill?
Chatting together-
a face-to-dial
relationship.
She filled
her glasses
with tears.
Overhead
the floor boards creakRestless children.
Autumn in the park
I came
I saw
I conkered.
Crystal clear December morning.
Dusted with snow.
Hot water bottle night.
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As the noise recedes
the night
becomes spacious.
Quivering leaves.
What are the plants frightened of?
The wind.
Once upon a time.
Alas
not now.
What a horrible day!
she saidas the rain watered the garden.
Hot June,
cool inside:
beached on the sofa.
Laugh and the world laughs with you.
Sleep
and youre on your own.
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NOISY POEM
Hello
Hello
Hello
Hello
Hello
Hello
Hello
Hello
Hello
Hello
Hello
*
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I thought I was apathetic
but then I made a decision:
I was going back to bed.
You are seduced by the latest gizmo.
Purchased
you take it home
filled to over-bursting with
advertorial promises.
But
it
doesnt work!
Talk about deflated
You.
Are.
DEVASTATED
once again.
Life has let you down:
a Walkman and no batteries.
You cant hear a fart
in a hurricane.
Is camping
an intense experience?
The window of opportunity is often obscured
by the curtain of confusion.
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Creativity Imagination in overdrive.
The greatest test in anyones life
is whether they can die with dignity.
For this, there are no statistics.
I have a business card
Therefore I am.
One blade of grass
missed by the mower.
So proud and defiant.
Summer invasion:
aliens landing on the grass.
Damn Dandelions.
The brain whirrs,
the ink flows:words fail.
She left the training course early -
her father had died.
She had learnt enough.
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Handwriting
is individual:
Mark my word.
Machines do speak
Soliloquies
in some unknown tongue.
An August morningin more ways than one.
The Camellia
ripples its leaves,
unencumbered by the life of commerce.
Summer evening -
recumbent on the patio.
Watching two mobiles.
One immobile.
Restless clouds
unnoticed.
Always moving
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Cleanliness is next to godliness:
my dishwasher
is a saint!
Between the Buddleias
a host of cabbage whites:
Butterfly ballet.
Putting pen to papera sensuous act.
Awaiting a genesis.
I notice changes in my body.
Old age
is not a concept.
I always thought
there was an answer to
every question.............
My ginger cat
is called Dennis.
He doesnt seem to mind.
Thoughts hit the brain.
Words hit the page.
Mysterious.
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Scissors rock on their hook.
I used them to cut Sellotape
hours ago.
The dictionary has all the ingredients-
you write the
poem.
What do you call a TV with a broken screen?A radio.
Life is full
of rude awakenings.
I once used a thesaurus
to write a poem,
( demonstrated ( complicated
( substantiated ( involved
( proved ( tangled
but it ( ratified that it was too ( tricky
( bore out ( labyrinthine
( confirmed ( tortuous( turned out ( convoluted
( affirmed ( perplexing.
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A Victorian Tragedy in Five Acts.
Act 1
Bubble : It was cold in the fridge.
Squeak : Sure was.
Act 2
Bubble : This frying pan is greasy.
Squeak : Hot too!
Act 3
Bubble : That fork was sharp!
Squeak : And the knife!
Act 4
Bubble : I think were going to be eaten!
Squeak : Aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhhh!
Act 5
Bubble : Its dark in here.
Squeak : Sure is.
A rag man is an
anagram of
anagram.
I wuZ noRTy in mI yuth
teLin lys anD nOt thee trooTH
sKived of sKooL thoRT it ELL
Whitch is y I kANt spel.
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Dog falling asleep
on my chest:
a semblance
of
purpose.
You can take a horse
to water
but you cant make it think.
Its simple:
I breathe -therefore
I am.
Experience theallure of
alliteration.
Dog
curled on my lap.
Moon-shaped,
moon-coloured.Hes also a
lunatic.
Kitchen confrontation:
Chairs taking sides and
facing each other
across the table.
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Now is the winter of our discothque.
I swapped lettuce seedlings for
a fishing lesson.
Bargain!
My dogs incessantly lick my head,
hands and ankles.
Perhaps theyre washing away mysins?
Its coming-
not much
lllllloooooonnnnnnggggggeeeeeerrrrrr
now.
It was a storm in a teacup
the lightening hurt my
teeth.
Autobiography:
the history of the
motorcar.
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The truth:
A watched kettle never
procrastinates.
Life is like a jigsaw puzzle:
I saw the whole picture once
but now I cant remember
where bits go.
the
Cocaine
Money does grow on trees.
Spontaneity:
Being free of the past.
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Why are skunks
likened to drunks?
They dont drink more
until they hit the floor.
They wont pinch the bum
of their flatmates mum.
They dont spill Chinese
down their lap and knees.
They never ever puke
over Nancy, Paul and Luke.
They wouldnt think
to piss in the sink.
They dont sleep and snore
on the bathroom floor.
They dont watch telly
but they can be smelly.
So why are skunks
compared to drunks?
Do budding authors
only write gardening books?
The lilac Buddleia and
the lilac mobile
pose an inarticulate question.
Fish are constrained by their environment.
Tadpoles will dramatically move
to a new life.Am I a fish or a frog?
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My two dogs barkat different things.
Why separate agendas?
Aphorisms and clichs.
A cut finger.
Wisdom in small doses.
A cool August night.
Expectation of rain.
Ephemeral desires.
Restless clouds,
Always moving.
Unnoticed.
The book
A lattice of meanings.Most escape me.
In the present moment - the past is
remembered
and the future
fashioned.
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Red,
red and amber,
green.A symbolic life.
Words are doors
to the soul.
Be watchful.
To read I need my glasses.
The world is encumbered with
small print.
Why the debate about poetry?Words just..........
come alive..
June afternoon.
Flies massed over the lawn:
Air traffic control?
Fanciful ideas,
toyed with
then forgotten.
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New Years day.
Fireworks go whizz, bang, bang.
I feel the same.
Numeracy:
What comes after eight?
Mints.
Vanity, vanity.All is vanity.
I rest my case.
Is it possible to hum
out of tune?
After the kettles orgasm,
I make a cup of tea.
The Sound of Silence -
mobile with flat battery.
Whats the real
virtue
of virtual reality?
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When I stroke my cat
he purrs insanely.
Wheres the volume control?
Bike riding
my mouth a yawning chasm
for the fly.
Reading old diaries
my formative youth.
Where is he now?
June 21st,
the longest day.
My life grows
shorter.
Morning has broken
Must be a design fault.
She was simply divine:
Grapes would grow on her.
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If you write down all your thoughts
does that leave your brain
empty?
Round and round the garden
like a teddy bear,
one step, two step
dog poo is everywhere.
I was offered fresh marshmallow.
Yet we were miles from water.
Drip, drip, drip.
Tock, tick, tock:
Life has its own intrinsic rhythms.
Splish, splosh, splash.
Crash, bang, wallop.
And I have mine.
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