Safety goggles must be worn at all times
By HaiAnh
Experiments.
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- 2378 reads
Emma 4 Tom 4ever
And those that his arm stiffened at were the ones he knew by name. For the students that had written love into the wood, he flicked a whim over like a pebble, and shot it into a promise.
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- 2 comments
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- 1012 reads
A Minute
If you wouldn’t mind sitting still, just for a minute: your hair would be a butterfly sanctuary, white lichen would grow on your elbow and moss at your knees, the farmer would come
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- 834 reads
All Our Music Is Instantly Clear For The World
Hornets, poetry and relativity.
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- 897 reads
April Commute
My surreal commute to and from work.
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- 4 comments
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- 1319 reads
Are You Going To Get Dressed Today?
I will not make the same mistake as Colderidge did. I was interupted, but made the interuption the poem.
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- 745 reads
Armrest
Origami. This morning I heard birds on the roof it sounded like they were unfolding and folding scrunched paper. Origami, was my first thought. I welcomed the armrests
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- 3 comments
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- 1313 reads
Breathless
I ran Up the hill In a ‘Vote for Pedro’ t-shirt. Where the grass Is too long I walked. Glassless And mistook the vetch for a calf, the cow parsley: a figure in the woods
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- 2 comments
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- 1055 reads
Bus tour/Radio
Someone shot look at the view breaking reportedly heading to the mall there’s the Rockies highest point on the confirmed dead trans- Canadian highway people are being asked to avoid
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- 581 reads
Cause and Affect
I have my first real-life Facebook stalker. At 65 he is younger than my previous stalker.
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- 6 comments
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- 3536 reads
China Dainty
Take this. Touch porcelain oblong dish And moss cloth Where clipped toes pot. Red yourself. I pale petit local Touch star snow that shuffles golden white down and
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- 792 reads
Compensate
Leave earlier than you could ever anticipate. Leave enough time for the train to change its mind, switch direction, think: not London - Leeds, haven’t been there in a while.
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- 1 comment
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- 901 reads
Day Night
The post woman unzips the drive, letterbox peaks open, then shuts sharply, eyelids heavy, lashes interlocked like a Venus flytrap. She puts handwritten letters on top,
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- 793 reads
DEAR READER
Dear Reader, we have not met this is because I have been busy writing terribly important things. I think of you occasionally when nothing else of much importance is happening.
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- 2 comments
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- 882 reads
The 10 things we talk about when we talk about love
Happy Valentine's Day.
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- 5 comments
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- 3186 reads
The Man In Front
Experiments in narration.
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- 1 comment
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- 1060 reads
The Year of Miracles
He was not thinking of the light bulb as it batted it’s last wing. He had lay in the bath too long - he was thinking of his rumpled mushroom.
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- 1 comment
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- 903 reads
How It All keeps Its Rhythm
First that Chicago click of heels, tap drip, then the low, uncontrollable sigh as they sit, skirts shoved up hastily, trousers slung to the floor,
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- 6 comments
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- 1419 reads
Used. Like new.
A 64-year-old playwright, retired, Whilst driving slowly through fog Told me clearly that we “are meant for each other”. When I got home I purchased his book Super delivery. We are.
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- 3 comments
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- 1723 reads
The Remaining Inch Which Could Move Aside The Wrinkle
car porn.
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- 774 reads
The Eye And Inside Being Them
Lifts unfold them like origami to omniscient, one-armed cranes pointing their guns skyward prophesying rain. Cyclists dismount. Lorries flick their scent. Dolphin trains beach
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- 832 reads
Keep Apart Two Chevrons
1st in sequence which includes: The Eye and Inside Being Them, The Paper Of The Country And The Housewife, They Will Forgive Them Everything, The remaining Inch Which Could remove the Wrinkle
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- 2 comments
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- 1036 reads
I Caught Him Facing Up A Tin Of Pears
Poem about a PC I work with sometimes who wants to fix the internet.
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- 1 comment
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- 837 reads
The Teeth That Crossed The Picket Line
My teeth are crossing the picket line, at night, when they think my nail won’t slip into the alley between them as they slowly edge themselves out.
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- 801 reads
Everything That Nearly Happened
Guilt.
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- 1 comment
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- 927 reads
Lessons in Intonation
I am learning what the birds are about and how to reply to them. It is simple: pretend you’re married
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- 741 reads
Prelude
Sunday Days before they knock the door, open, come in, hello, to check everything. He doesn’t call it hunt, it has another name: The Wheatland.
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- 691 reads
The Troubadour
I followed its arrow advice, on this, the hottest of days: quickly straddled the stile, left my dress panting where it fell, watched my white vest dissolve to sugared rice paper, licked
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- 1052 reads
I want you to know that I am doing this for you
My dressing gown is shearing my skin I am sleep derived and overheating. The only way I can trick this pinprick of daylight that’s left is to treat myself like a child lie convincingly
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- 754 reads
Shoeboxes of love stacked like brickwork
Lives kept in shoeboxes.
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- 860 reads
I Saw The Rain
I saw the rain, and I turned back. And my seat was still warm at the table. And the glass was still covered. And the conversation hadn’t changed. And the bell hadn’t rung.
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- 1 comment
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- 909 reads
Summer haikus
Always time for a haiku
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- 2 comments
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- 1004 reads
The Caretaker
Army salesmen are circling the school, calling to the children like sirens gripping their ankles. I cast my arms wide like a weighted fishing net and gather them in, splashing with excitement.
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- 710 reads
Slow Motion
First draft, all suggestions grately recieved.
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- 1 comment
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- 840 reads
Sardines
Normally, you can tell. Now, I am not supposed to be here. Usually: the duvet would be flung theatrically across the bed, proclaiming: I’ve been slept in; bra hung from a lamp shade,
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- 722 reads
Facing Up
In retail this is called ‘facing up’, to turn the products forward so they can be eyed by customers. The sergeant lined women like this, like tins, tied rags around their eyes.
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- 1 comment
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- 938 reads
Met
I should’ve been asleep, but sat upright clasping a cup of cold coffee to my chest and listening out for everyone who hadn’t met yet… Remember the Brandywell Lane bus stop
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- 794 reads
The Spider
What I hated about mezze was a spider that spread his picnic-blanket net, sat like a roman in the centre as dishes flung themselves around his plate. That spider never doubted,
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- 728 reads
The Streetlight at the End of 42nd
An ekphrastic poem in draft, all comments welcome.
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- 1 comment
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- 888 reads
Pawn
Ladies, stop a second. Don’t hand over the jar, when the lid won’t open, or else in five years it’ll be car keys, then car. You’ll be stumbling, wheeling a pramful, puzzled,
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- 2 comments
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- 916 reads
Saga
I have been whispering to the printer since just after nine. It has given nothing, only flashed ‘drum’ and whined and stopped and whined and filled me full then stopped
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- 1 comment
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- 836 reads
Hush
...and the reasons we can’t and no one will bless us and smoke and refresh and Bach’s Rescue Remedy in a Walthamstow toilet and ghazals.
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- 3 comments
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- 1100 reads
It's about
A life of a man who makes wealth he goes to cultural events and he has friends and he plays cards and he has a wife and enough children he has everything but instead of adding up
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- 625 reads
Sestina for my far too beautiful self
I look far too beautiful to travel on buses. This is what people say when I am travelling on buses looking far too beautiful.
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- 8 comments
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- 1759 reads
I am Good
I am good at writing. See I am doing it now, one handed. My name has been in magazines and some books (see CV). I can explain didactic rhythm and spondees to children.
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- 603 reads
Saturday Morning
Are you awake? I walk into a supermarket on Hoe Street so I can hear him. It’s one I haven’t been into yet. I pretend to look interested in the cereals. Yes, since eight.
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- 3 comments
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- 1169 reads
WAITING ROOM
First draft. All feedback welcome.
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- 3 comments
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- 904 reads
You See
When you see a crocus, you say it’s beautiful. When you see a carcass, you say it’s horrible. When you see a painting, you say it’s beautiful.
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- 2 comments
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- 931 reads
Picnic
It’s all I have to bring today: this small notebook. I pat my pockets theatrically Now where could it be? A corner peeks out like a handkerchief I heave out the rest.
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- 1 comment
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- 677 reads
Polite
Apartment is polite for flat. Loft conversion is polite for extra rent. Patio is polite for nothing grows. My grandmother was polite to people who weren’t in our immediate family.
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- 5 comments
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- 1719 reads
The same rain story
It is still raining. I am beginning to wonder if it ever wasn’t. If there was a less shiny day once when I saw a man carrying an umbrella and barked with laughter?
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- 746 reads