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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Records Idots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Raphael
    Elite Ratio:    8 - 769/389/199
    Words: 378
    Class/Type: Poetry/Serious
    Total Views: 939
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2476



    Description:
       


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsRecords Idots
    -------------------------------------------


    I

    And the light of faces in the shimmering blue
    bog-land, leaving red graze-marks
    brief flittings of fire-light
    on the window;

    A welling up of water
    softening this pensioner muck
    this wrapping of roots
    and calligraphy of sinew
    a card that's full of well well wishes
    from who?

    II

    I hear the strings and roaring
    in the soft recesses of Orchid
    the "it must be" in the rocks outside
    the shirked duty of care in that man
    as he drives,
    the round-about ways,
    the way the soil delays
    any trust in the world outside
    from coming to fruition.

    from coming and from coming from
    from rushing to wonder where you belong?
    have you thanked God sometimes
    looking into the wildeness
    of hard stone laid down
    that your child-hood answers were all wrong?

    III

    I turn aside and flick up the songs on my mp3 player,
    some of them take me back to cleaning the windows
    in the cloister, when the school was empty and all the empty
    desks-drawers, books and furniture had to be piled up and
    rearranged, as the whole host of new faces
    would be coming soon, coming from their long and painful
    ardours of Summer.
    There is a song reminds me of a girl
    or girls, and now in the whirling into night countryside
    I'm still thinking of bright places, and bright rays
    the way that pannel on the floor twirled us round
    first time past gloomy mountains into town
    on the first tram
    gripping the yellow bars with our hands
    she had a look of sunshine in her hair
    that would be stereotypical if it wasn't so true
    but then again it might be
    just this angsty teenager song
    that makes the memory seem like new.

    In truth...

    IV

    It was ages ago
    Possibly cheap advice in a book saying
    "only write down what you know."
    And soon as I got to the house in the country

    I'd drop my pen
    Forget whatever water nymph was in my head
    In those Summer weeks

    Id think down beside the wooden wall
    In someone elses house
    "Go home and start all over again."







    Submitted on 2017-11-16 13:23:16     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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