‘TIS YOUR CALL!

The only cure to this disease Is that you never cease To take this art by the scruff of the neck. It’ll be at your call and beck: Your ‘sufferation’ from ‘Poet-reukemia’ Is to be released by ‘Uthanasia’. Otherwise, suffer in silence, For we the critics are used to violence....

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I AM TIRED OF POETRY

My pen refuses to stop I get so twisted and I am laid bare; of all the themes I wear of all the ideas I share My poetic wit disobeys my orders Poetry stop please, you are killing me I am in a state of poignancy I pity myself I...

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FADING INK

In slant and well carved holeWas it buried in a mild coalAs names do cleft on tombOn wall, was its speech dumb That, I supposed was a numberAn address, waiting for its finderClenched in front of the buildingIn hope not to fade of it’s bleeding The drooped paint pootled in...

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MUSE

And when The night will fall Like a basket Full of rainy silence, I will be the one To tenderly whisper -like the wave Carrying dolphins’ secrets To the coast- That love rises secretly There, in an Aegean’s cave. And when That night time Will tenderly touch us -when the...

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