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Published: 2015-07-19 20:41:26 +0000 UTC; Views: 410; Favourites: 36; Downloads: 0
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Consequently I've a tendency to be unhappy you see the thoughts in my head all the words that were said all the blues and reds get to me. There was a time when all on my mind was love, now I find that most of the time .... Love's not enough in itself
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Comments: 9
Amanda-Graham [2015-07-29 03:34:33 +0000 UTC]
Hey Christian,
i've featured this amazing image of yours here -
.bruises and missing bread..bruises and missing bread.
.
a poem is just this
a self referential list
.
.
i would be
a work of steel and plastics
polymer wrapped gold and copper
singing with gears and ratcheting levers
dancing gestures
.
i would be
skeletal quiet calm
long gone
ancient under glass or ground
observed and ignored
passed by
.
i would be
unfound
boxed upon a shelf
hidden in a busy space
stacked among similar states
of others
.
i would be
a memory
a scent of where someone went
a soft yearning
a touch
a brief blur
things just forgotten
if it creates any problem please Note me.
Mandy
👍: 0 ⏩: 1
chriseastmids In reply to Amanda-Graham [2015-07-29 05:38:27 +0000 UTC]
you know its never a problem ... i love your features
👍: 0 ⏩: 0
HalfFormedThoughts [2015-07-19 21:04:35 +0000 UTC]
Forgotten door and empty eyes of lonely and beautiful building in the middle of nowhere...
..''Twelve o'clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium...
The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap...''
👍: 0 ⏩: 1
chriseastmids In reply to HalfFormedThoughts [2015-07-19 21:16:37 +0000 UTC]
T.S Eliot .... wonderful poem
The reminiscence comes Of sunless dry geraniums And dust in crevices, Smells of chestnuts in the streets, and female smells in shuttered rooms, And cigarettes in corridors And cocktail smells in bars ....
👍: 0 ⏩: 1