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Poetry |
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My first day at school
By Lee Cassanell
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Do you believe in the devil? the black widow said,
As she kicked at my friend to make sure she was dead
I replied with a glare of disgust and defeat
And then closed the scared eyes of the girl at my feet
The cries of the babies howl loud though my ears
I'd cry with them too but I've used up my tears
I watch as the ghosts move the lost from the living
The guns look like toys in the hands of the women
A boy tries to run but he's caught by the scruff
She hit's him twice hard as if one wasn't enough.
The bandit strolls round shouting curse after curse
My stomach screams empty and lips shake with thirst
A sudden explosion rips concrete and glass
I cover my face from the heat of the blast
The smell of flesh searing and fresh burning wood
Is the last thing I feel for I taste my own blood
In this place that a cold hearted God has abandoned
I hear a prayer whispered,
And silently strangled.
I once saw a film of a far away war,
Grey soldiers and ships fighting brave on the shore
My father said Son that's a glorious thing ..
But there's no glory here
In the dark Beslan gym......
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Copyright ©2004 Lee Cassanell
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I used to like watching Friends; it's a relaxing, nonsense of a program that
the term chewing gum for the eyes for practically invented for.
At 8pm tonight I watched a 30-minute news flash on the horrors that had occurred at a faraway Russian school and as that report came to an end and the opening titles of Friends splashed across the screen..I realised what a ridiculous fucking programme it actually is.
Still, tomorrows another day and next weeks a lifetime away and I bet you a diddle eye Joe to a damned if I know that I'll be watching Friends before the months out and the Beslan tragedy will be nothing more then a distant memory on a dusty shelf, somewhere in the far corners of my mind.
Such is life.
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Poetry - From Kathman to San Fran By Steve Rudd
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From Kathman to San Fran
Round the canyon and then some
Routine cheques withheld ransom
I'm gonna go get 'em..
From the same toilet seat, contracting curry house blues
Read more...
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Poetry - Silent Past, Little White Lie and In The Shadows By Amy Rout 16
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I saw you lurking in the shadows
I thought you were following me
I turned around to look
But only your silhouette I could see
A silhouette means nothing at all
Just the figure of a face
Read more...
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Poetry - 21st Century Goddamn! By Anthea
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I am of a certain age,
The 1960s, were mine.
Bob Dylan sang to us
Of the death of Medgar Evers.
Near half a century ago.
On the far side of the ocean.
Read more...
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Poetry - Ballad of a Jack and Jill By Lee Cassanell
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The glare of the hot sun explodes in my face
A cigarette slow burns in takeaway waste,
I lie with the lights off in party smeared threads
Need coffee and OJ but can't feel my legs,
The jungle was massive that's why I'm so tired
Read more...
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Poetry - Dancing in the street By Anthea
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When I walked into Marrakech,
Everybody said, hello, to me.
I walked Beverley Road, last February,
So I tried the technique of Crocodile Dundee:
I said, hello, to everybody.
And, that's how I met Dominic!
Read more...
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Poetry - Elizabeth Bennett at the Curry House By Jane Foster
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All day before she prepared the white dress,
Not knowing how it would end up a mess..
She fastened her bonnet and powdered her face
And set off for the joy that was Ray's Place.
She took to her seat, tried hard to be modest
Read more...
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Poetry - The Aquanaut By Lee Cassanell
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A heartbreak hotel on the back streets of sin cross the road from a bar of hellfire
Awakened by horns songs of champagne and blondes are the essence of all he aspires
The Aquanaut swims through the excess of oil that cascade from the car pool of stars
Read more...
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Poetry - On The Tiles By Lee Cassanell
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When I look back at the end of my life
I'll remember the night with my substitute wife
In a Tavern near Cork were the locals still talk
Of the Drinkers who crawled out the sea.
I came to that place with a harem of hippies
Read more...
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Poetry - Rag and Bone Men By Jane Foster
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Whilst languishing in bed this morning
I heard the sound of men in the distance..
The ones from days long past, with carts and horses,
Rusting spare parts, weathered necks,
And that old familiar drone:
Any Rag? Bone?
Read more...
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Poetry - Confessions of a Codeine Smoker By Lee Cassanell
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I sit with spiders
On Webs of Fly's
In rooms of damp and squalor
A coiled up spring
The mist I'm in
Will all clear by tomorrow
Read more...
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Poetry - The Plumber By Maurice Fairfield
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Behold the plumber where he stands
His wrenches gleaming in his hands
His jaw is square, his eye is keen
His belly flat his body lean.
No common man, his hire comes high
His hourly rate is in the sky
Read more...
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Poetry - Long Green Overcoats and Late Night Holly Oakes By Lee Cassanell
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Never smoke at dinner,
Never smoke at dawn,
Never smoke somebody's grass or mow somebody's lawn.
Never smoke your sister,
Never smoke your friends,
Read more...
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Poetry - He Comes at Night By Michelle Dee
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On a dark night, so cold a night
the wind hollering at my door.
Silver light breaking through my window
I lay there paralysed with anticipation
Suddenly he comes to me screaming my name
He was there in that very room
Read more...
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Poetry - The Queen, The Angel, And The Scribe By Rhonnie Besonday
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Across a nation three lives meet,
Lives alike and yet unknown.
Strangers to each other,
Yet three women of faith.
One woman a Queen in power,
Another Angel in sorrow and pain.
Read more...
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Poetry - Whispers of the Sea - Anonymous
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You are a Beacon and I am a mirror.
You brighten the world with your light, yet most see only flames.
I show the world as it is, yet most see only themselves.
I can never touch the light,
Read more...
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