Poetry

The Last Waltz

The Last Waltz The little bird flees a Main Coon’s gaze.He kicks off the ground and rides the gust of a happy wind.Takes off, sweeps along the road then up, up through trees.Branches bent, adorned with leaves picked off one by one.The sky hosts a show of swans, an arrow-formed warning.The little bird settles on […]

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Radio Silence

Radio Silence When my grandfather passed, I sleptevery night, waiting for the dream. Tick, ticka mantle clock counts the night.He sits in silence, laying out a game of solitaire.He knows I’m waiting for a seat. We have a conversation about his lifeI was happy, I woke up.I was happy.It was death done right.When you passed,

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Dustbin Bag

Dustbin Bag A man cracks her upthey hold hands forthe first timeShe tells me about the mountain grassbeneath their feetSometimes we singin the car beforebitter silence hitsA fruitful spacegone fickle from thewords I didn’t speakI, a rag old and usedto cleaning up hermess I stress herBecome ancient nowwaiting in a dustbin bagto be taken out.

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Bottled

Bottled How nice a bottle can become.Unchanged by its environmentwith bubbles fixed preserved.Sticking itself to the one job wemade it for – cheering the people,for you and for me. For hordes of humans, for hundreds of yearsin the sea, for humid days hiddenon a forgotten shelf holding onto the thirst of a heat struck day.

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The Dusty Driver

The Dusty Driver A dusty man walks slowlypast red traffic lights wherea youngster has halted hisdirty motorcycle a red finishgone brown from sand kickedup over two people and the olddriver who enjoys a Sundaysemi-walk next to the highway.

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A Michelangelo

A Michelangelo Fix your mouth you saidback then when I caught youoff guard by mirroring yours.Today, I see the soft beige a rounded smile in my periphery. I love youjust like then but quieter now. Likebread rising under a tea towel, I extend it with tendernesskeeping out a tasteful eye ofadmiration, keeping myself astray. Do

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I Extend Myself

I Extend Myself Here stands a pathogenesis of me.An extra lime -who’s naumannite made.Laughing in my faceprint, begging.A partygoer of mine – with idents and lifemanship.Gripped by handbooks and touchedby cheers this otocyst – looks just like me. Chance Poetry (N+7) A. Evensen

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A Chemical Imbalance

A Chemical Imbalance A new cashmere covers the floorit was too expensive to throw away.Coloured journals pile the deskto remind her of the good years.A closet stretched across a wallit was hard to pick one dress.A mirror the size of 17 platesto make sure she looks the best.A drawer packed with pill boxesto keep it

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