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She Walked in Beauty
...still walks in a beauty even dreams can't beat.
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- 1387 reads
"Ride The Donkey" - prepare to be shocked...
Be warned: It is absolutely raw. It is a 'no punches pulled' and 'just as it happened' frank record of one man's life. (And what a man). It is in no way reading suitable for minors, prudes, or the faint-hearted. Whilst the early pages mostly give an illuminating historical insight into life in England during the 1930's and 1940's for those country kids born into poverty, do not be lulled into any sense of security. As the story unfolds, the many explicit sex situations are so graphically described in some profusion, that the combined contents of the Karma Sutra, Marquis de Sade, James Joyce, and Arthur Miller's works pale into insignificance. This is 'hands on' and unexpurgated. The first part - 'Book One' ' is what many will consider a catalogue of evil. It is the biography of a youth hell bent on monetary gain and sexual self-gratification. And of the mostly teenage nymphomaniacs who formed his stable of call-girls, whores, and adult-show performers. He made the girls rich, and in doing so amassed a fortune of his own whilst still a teenager.
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- 1455 reads
Fireworks
I'm frankly shocked that there aren't more fireworks poems on the site following on from last Saturday,
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- 1407 reads
ANOTHER "Ugly duckling"
Another ugly Duckling I'm sure you all know about the little ugly duckling that grew to be a beautiful swan; well this is about a little girl all the other children thought was ugly:
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- 849 reads
we all are dreamers
shattered in despair when your dreams dont come lost all hope and care when your dreams dont come and we all are dreamers is it fame or freedom or just a better place is it an adventure or a utopia
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- 1060 reads
God Can't Help A Mind Made Up
Click. Click. Knock.
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- 854 reads
Unwritten Letter
Maybe I need some time to remember what it was like to just be your friend. Or maybe I need some of you.
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- 908 reads
Attempting Life
I'm unhappy. But why? This ... I do not know
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- 933 reads
Western
Greaseproof tumbleweed skits across Castle Square. Clopping hooves in the pedestrianised area. The bins freeze, mid-vomit, dripping polystyrene and strawberry milkshake. Nutrition speckles the paving: unwanted slats of limp gherkin. The jockey rides in topless, his muscular, pitted chests thrown back with each five-fingered pull from a Marlboro red. Poppered trousers tucked into white socks. A matted horses rustled from Mayhill scrubland. The boy gunslings a bottle of Fairy Liquid, beaming lime in to the fountains burbling fringe. Things turn a bit sci-fi. An octopus froth swells from the depths. Glooping out in all directions. The jockey looks around to see if anybody has anything to say. We watch him, disapproving and jealous as he gallops home passed John Lewis.
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- 1398 reads
Relief
You turn me over slow as a clam surfacing and for air between my thighs,
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- 1638 reads
Purse
In the tobbacconists she always kept a fistful of change in a paper bag her present from ambivalent parents measuring out attention to their children like bio food, as the day and her lips gathered
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- 1643 reads
Familiar
I could straddle the streets always forcing forwards with my left foot and not notice the closed curtains the lack of cats and the smell of gas with no fire. It could combust like a sofa in the middle of the night
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- 1517 reads
The Antics Roadshow
He's facing the old man down soon as the car door slams. This is it. He graciously tolerated her howler monkey housemate, his 'Whojoo thinkyoowar's and the needly-fingered local doubled over the bar
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- 2817 reads
Bag of Weasels. Chapter 9
Another day, another weasel...
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- 1268 reads
National novel writing month (chapters 5 and 6 - unedited)
She clicked on the file of her housing Officer, unhelpful little fucker, she said to herself. I'll get him one Day, get the little fucker sacked.
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- 1184 reads
Intellectuality
Webster tells no lies
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- 1431 reads
Last Day of the Reich
Hitler was in trouble again.
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- 997 reads
A Revelatory Ghazal
A ghazal is an ancient form where each stanza must be a self-contained 'idea'. In some versions the poet's name must feature in the final line. How cool. Here's an extract: I'm changing. The bible is an excellent book, full of intertextuality and foreshadowing.
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- 1947 reads
My Life Oy Vay 6 (Diary of a drunk.)
MY LIFE OY VAY 6 (Diary of a drunk) CIDER RULES THE HOUSE. Wake up to a nightmare. Thatcher on television. I thought she was dead. Throbbing head so decide to use the 'cure'. I get 6 Solpadeine and dissolve them into a glass of cider. Swig the lot down. I once tried that with Andrews liver salts and almost drowned in a sea of spume. Feel immediately better until I turn my attention to the TV and Thatcher. Apparently she's 80 and is losing her marbles and can't speak. Rejoice! There is a God.
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- 2501 reads


