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Blogs > MulleenofMelb > An exploration |
Slice the dead
Slice the dead Slice the dead Slice the dead vines from me allow these lines in me to flow free a thousand thoughts stampede each with more legs than a centipede such a noise they make as they past and I need find one with some class to which I can take chisel of my pen and with hammering intensity open free the spirit lurking inside allow the words to commit poetic suicide for when first exposed to the air they do not at all well fair become stilted skeletons stark against white screen these letters dark no longer a free and wandering wisp of a glamorous poem gaining access on guest-list instead an uneven number of letters per line fruit growing sour and poisonous on the vine who would have thought a thought could move me to this point where nothing is good just a flow of words chasing down a hill as television announces all troubles cured with a pill a dystopia with edge of Ray Bradbury this world of ours in past a place not very welcoming to readers or people of thought and now that is the world in which we are caught a demagogue prepares to be elected no compassion as refugees are rejected hate and fear and bombings mad a world on edge and depressed and sad even those who have all material wants find something missing haunts a lack of community or togetherness no solution in poetic words I profess for no one reads what poets write can the last one out turn out humanity's light. Thoughts in sensual pleasure to erotic writing writ. Feel free to travel - click - to my blog: An exploration introduction |
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I should never read prize winning poetry my reaction is always inflammatory my thoughts slips to something somewhere as if trying to unplug a bath drain of hair it does always need to be done but it is never pleasant or ever fun..... Thoughts in sensual pleasure to erotic writing writ. Feel free to travel - click - to my blog: An exploration introduction
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