# Post a poem here!



## poetry360 (Jan 17, 2014)

I am a new member on this forum and interested in hearing your poems, original or favourites.
Here is one of mine and you can also see more along with photos on my blog.
http://poetry360.wordpress.com

VARIATION

They are
as different

as the
secret
geometry

washing
the sky

and
shining
the sundial

ticking
in the
rain

but none
is exactly
the same.


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## Diwundrin (Jan 17, 2014)

Okay, I'll jump first. 


Penned this long ago after a 'bush dinner' tour there, and yes, it really is spooky after dark in there. (and we all heard it, not just me okay?

)









  The Olgas  -  Katajuta.


Walk through Katajuta when the moon begins to climb.
You'll hear the ghost Coroboree that whispers down through time.
The wind is said to cause the sounds of voices still so near.
Yet not a leaf is stirring, while the chanting is so clear.

What explains the power guarding points not to be passed, 
preventing one step further with a force that holds you fast?
That ancient place of wonder, so picturesque by day,
at night belongs to the Spirit World, and it bids you stay away!

'Di'


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## CeeCee (Jan 17, 2014)

One of my favorite poets...

Carnal apple, Woman filled, burning moon,
dark smell of seaweed, crush of mud and light,
what secret knowledge is clasped between your pillars?
What primal night does Man touch with his senses?
Ay, Love is a journey through waters and stars,
through suffocating air, sharp tempests of grain:
Love is a war of lightning,
and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness.
Kiss by kiss I cover your tiny infinity,
your margins, your rivers, your diminutive villages,
and a genital fire, transformed by delight,
slips through the narrow channels of blood
to precipitate a nocturnal carnation,
to be, and be nothing but light in the dark. 

Pablo Neruda


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## Davey Jones (Jan 17, 2014)

The perfect woman
Doesn't fart
Like a trumpet sounding
But rather it is released
Like she's gently sighing


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## Diwundrin (Jan 17, 2014)

I'm out, too old fashioned for that ardyfardy highly cerebral stuff Davey. 

 

 I lost the poetry scene when it stopped rhyming and being actually about something.


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## Davey Jones (Jan 17, 2014)

> I lost the poetry scene when it stopped rhyming and being actually about something.



I lose it too in high school ,English class,could never figure poems out.


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## Diwundrin (Jan 17, 2014)

I blame Dylan!  Bob that is.  It seems the precinct now of those with time to spare due to unemployment making simple things as obscure as they can manage in order to indicate their higher plane of perceptions.  We poor drongos must sit in wonderment that they appear to have 'nailed' what we couldn't quite envisage because we just see it as it really is.   
Sorry, I fail to appreciate the 'new' poetry, if that's even what it is.  All to wanky for me.

...yours sincerely Thes. A. La'Saurus.


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## GDAD (Jan 17, 2014)




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## GDAD (Jan 17, 2014)




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## jrfromafar (Jan 17, 2014)

Diwundrin said:


> I blame Dylan!  Bob that is.  It seems the precinct now of those with time to spare due to unemployment making simple things as obscure as they can manage in order to indicate their higher plane of perceptions.  We poor drongos must sit in wonderment that they appear to have 'nailed' what we couldn't quite envisage because we just see it as it really is.
> Sorry, I fail to appreciate the 'new' poetry, if that's even what it is.  All to wanky for me.
> 
> ...yours sincerely Thes. A. La'Saurus.



I don't understand the riddles and mystery of modern poetry either. But for others that do, and enjoy it, more power to ya....

I did (do?) love Dylan though, even though I can't say I understood much of what he sang.


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## jrfromafar (Jan 17, 2014)

LIVING
To Touch the cup with eager lips and taste, not drain it;
To woo and tempt and court a bliss -- and not attain it;
To fondle and caress a joy, yet hold it lightly,
Lest it become necessity and cling too tightly;
To watch the sun set in the west without regretting;
To hail its advent in the east -- the night forgetting;
To smother care in happiness and grief in laughter;
To hold the present close -- not questioning hereafter;
To have enough to share -- to know the joy of giving;
To thrill with all the sweets of life -- is living ~ Anonymous


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## GDAD (Jan 17, 2014)

_Seamus O'Leary from Dublin
On St. Patrick's Day had brew bubblin'.
People looked for his gold
Where he led them was cold
And no rainbow, which many found troublin'._


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## jrfromafar (Jan 18, 2014)

Said The Rose

I am weary of the Garden
I am weary of the Garden,
Said the Rose;
For the winter winds are sighing,
All my playmates round me dying,
And my leaves will soon be lying
     'Neath the snows.

But I hear my Mistress coming,
     Said the Rose;
She will take me to her chamber,
Where the honeysuckles clamber,
And I'll bloom there all December
     Spite the snows.

Sweeter fell her lily finger
     Than the bee!
Ah, how feebly I resisted,
Smoothed my thorns, and e'en assisted
As all blushing I was twisted
     Off my tree.

And she fixed me in her bosom
     Like a star;
And I flashed there all the morning,
Jasmin, honeysuckle scorning
Parasites forever fawning
     That they are.

And when evening came she set me
     In a vase
All of rare and radiant metal,
And I felt her red lips settle
On my leaves til each proud petal
     Touched her face.

And I shone about her slumbers
     Like a light
And, I said, instead of weeping,
In the garden vigil keeping,
Here I'll watch my Mistress sleeping
     Every night.

But when morning with its sunbeams
     Softly shone,
In the mirror where she braided
Her brown hair I saw how jaded,
Old and colorless and faded,
     I had grown.

Not a drop of dew was on me,
     Never one;
From my leaves no odors started,
All my perfume had departed,
I lay pale and broken-hearted
     In the sun.

Still I said, her smile is better
     Than the rain;
Though my fragrance may forsake me,
To her bosom she will take me,
And with crimson kisses make me
     Young again.

So she took me . . . gazed a second . . .
     Half a sigh . . .
Then, alas, can hearts so harden?
Without ever asking pardon,
Threw me back into the garden,
     There to die.

How the jealous garden gloried
     In my fall!
How the honeysuckle chid me,
How the sneering jasmins bid me
Light the long gray grass that hid me
     Like a pall.

There I lay beneath her window
     In a swoon,
Till the earthworm o'er me trailing
Woke me just at twilight's failing,
As the whip-poor-will was wailing
     To the moon

But I hear the storm-winds stirring
     In their lair;
And I know they soon will lift me
In their giant arms and sift me
Into ashes as they drift me
     Through the air.

So I pray them in their mercy
     Just to take
From my heart of hearts, or near it,
The last living leaf, and bear it
To her feet, and bid her wear it
     For my sake.

- George H. Miles 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Henry_Miles


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## Diwundrin (Jan 18, 2014)

Well that's a hard act to follow! ...great piece.




A couple of Omar's verses have always held meaning for me. Or at least the English translation of them has.  Singly they a beautifully written advice, together they formed a whole new philosophy on life. 



_The moving finger writes, and having writ,
Moves on.
Nor all thy piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line,
Nor all thy tears wash out a single word of it.
_
..........
_
__Come fill the cup!  
And in the fires of Spring,
the Winter garment of repentance fling!
The bird of time  has but a little way to fly,
And Lo!  the bird is on the wing!_

from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam'.


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## jrfromafar (Jan 18, 2014)

I've got a copy of Omar K around here somewhere - been a few years since I read it.

Your poem The Olgas is very nice

That poem by George Miles inspired me to write a poem about a rose


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## jrfromafar (Jan 18, 2014)

The Single Rose

The morning dew that had settled on my petals
Was quickly disappearing
'Neath the sun

The other flowers 'round me
Lifted from their stems so proudly
To the day that for the world
Had just begun

This day shall be for me
The apex of my majesty
The day that I have blossomed
To my peak
To my mistress I will give
This glorious day I live
So into her tender hands
Will I seek

In silent cheer I saw her
Coming near
And ever more I stood upon my height
Oh! The thought was such delight
That I blushed with all my might
Of the moment she would notice
I was here

With sweetened fragrance I exuded
I too reached to be included
As she gathered up the roses
In her arms
And like the others I bestowed her
All my radiance and color
Longing for her favor
And her charms

I called for her! As roses do...
With everything within me
But alas! She passed -
And did not glance
My beauty I possess,
With each moment
Dwindles less

I'm left alone
To darkened tones
Yet unknown,
To face my death

I'm left alone,
Now night has grown
And covered me in a shroud
My stalk is stooped
I cannot stand
As once I was so proud

I'm full of sorrow...
There's no tomorrow
For the rose that was forgotten
No glory for a single rose...
The one left in the garden

The night was long...
Seemed not to end...
But finally came the dawn
Again I rose upon my stem,
Alone yet strangely calm

And then I saw her coming to me,
I, the one rose that was left...
With her tender touch she did rend,
And drew me to her breast...

She brought me to a table
And set me in a vase
I bloomed as only I was able,
Giving fragrance with my grace

Alone was I in splendor..
Alone to tell the story
Forlorn within the garden
To the Centerpiece of glory

-JR
(Inspiration from George H. Miles


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## Maywalk (Jan 18, 2014)

*The Marital Bed.*

I too was brought up in the era when poems rhymed and cant get my head round a lot of that written today. I have had poem books published with all proceeds going to my local http://www.rainbows.co.uk/
and this one is among them. It was read out over the radio and it was quite surprising how many rang in to say it sounded just like them -meaning husband and wife. I write true tales and put them into rhyme. 
Anyway here is 

[h=2]The Marital Bed[/h]For Gawds sake move over and let me get in
Its not very warm and my nightie’s quite thin
Panting and pushing to get him over the line
I only want half the bed the part I call mine.

I’m just dozing off to sleep when my calves go in a clamp
I jump out very quickly because I have the ruddy cramp
I can hear my other half snoring well in the ‘land of nod’
While I’m limping up and down thinking ‘you are a lucky sod’.

The cramp is slowly subsiding so I try my luck once again
More pushing shoving and heaving he really is a pain.
I close my eyes and let my mind drift like a rowing boat
When suddenly I’m choking with an elbow in my throat.

After being rudely awakened I settle down once more
Oh strewth! its started up again that never ending snore.
I bury my head in the pillow with the cover over my head
I’ve had this nightly torture since the first day that we wed.

I give him a dig to make him stop and turn the other way
Oh blow me down! here we go! he’s taken the whole duvet.
I pull it back with very much force, I have to be quite tough
So he turns over with it and puts his knees right up my duff.

I settle down once more to sleep the rest of the night through
When suddenly the bedclothes go back he has to visit the loo.
I turn to look at the clock, the hands say half past three
“Oh Lord!” I pray “let me get some rest, please be good to me”.

My other half gets back into bed shaking me back to life
I think I deserve a medal for being an understanding wife.
I hear the clock chime four o’clock I guess God never heard
I may as well get out of bed and do yesterdays crossword​
[h=6]Copyright © - Maisie Walker 2001 - All rights reserved[/h]


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## Diwundrin (Jan 19, 2014)

That's a slice of life Maywalk. 



JR your rose poem is lovely too, they've reminded me of the one, just one memorable, rose that was special where I lived in Singleton.  
Mum was mad on roses, I just fought with them.  We'd planted a few, it was drought time and the soil was rubbish but they struggled on and produced poor litlle roses except one that I thought was quietly dying.  One day it produced the most beautiful, perfect huge pink rose.  We didn't have the heart to cut it so I photographed it.  We did cut it eventually of course but I thought it lost something in a vase.  
I blew up the photo and framed it.  She chose that as one of the few pictures she wanted to take with her to the aged hostel.  She never tired of looking at that rose.  The bush survived but it never threw another one as good as that again.

I still have the picture in a box somewhere so one rose at least was immortalized after a fashion.


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## jrfromafar (Jan 19, 2014)

Thank you ! My mother was crazy about roses too - she gave us a few rose plants which produce incredible roses year after year - we also had some starts from her own garden - here is a vase full of 'em!


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## jrfromafar (Jan 19, 2014)

Maywalk that's nice !! Makes me wonder if it shouldn't be 'Martial' (combative) Bed rather than 'Marital' Bed!!


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## poetry360 (Jan 20, 2014)

Reflection

It was
a face
vaguely
familiar

a portrait
from a
shuttered
window

where
the scent
of a red
suitcase

stood
waiting
by the
door.

http://poetry360.wordpress.com


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## SifuPhil (Jan 20, 2014)

Something I scribbled down after a Tarot card reading at a Renaissance fair ...

*A Reading at the Faire*

He feels aloof from the commoner’s cries
 And for those whom he’s been played the Foole
 Not normally this way, not by night or by day
 But to get by he’ll soon break the rule


Transforming his thoughts by the moment
 The mystical laws will be changed
 The Tarotic Mistress turns over his cards
 His life and his soul rearranged


The Magician in him is quite skillful
 The Five of Cups mourns what is lost
 The Sun in the Sky gives a false Triumph sense
 But The Tower soon shows him the cost


The World truly is filled with beauty
 But The Hanged Man is turned on his head
 The Three Swords do try to confirm his weak heart
 And The Devil will soon see him dead


The Lovers, once joined, now are lonely
 And Strength shows its Courage and Zest
 While Temperance practices Moderation
 Ten Daggers do pierce his proud breast


Pentacles Five shows our Hardship
 And Four Cups appear in a Dream
 Her hand turns over Penultimate Death
 He strangles on his lifeless scream


But the last card to turn is the Jester
 The Foole whose Extravagance plays
 His Folly is Fatal, determined pre-natal
 And will stay with him all of his days


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## CeeCee (Jan 20, 2014)

I'm impressed!


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## SifuPhil (Jan 20, 2014)

CeeCee said:


> I'm impressed!



Thank you, m'Lady ...


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## CeeCee (Jan 20, 2014)

jrfromafar said:


> Thank you ! My mother was crazy about roses too - she gave us a few rose plants which produce incredible roses year after year - we also had some starts from her own garden - here is a vase full of 'em!


Those are so pretty! I love roses and tney do so well in Fresno.  On the first anniversary of my husbands death and since he was cremated I had nowhere  to take flowers, so I bought a tiny little teacup rose and planted it out front...it is huge and is still going strong!


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## SifuPhil (Jan 20, 2014)

Of course, in my stranger moments I come up with stuff like ...

*A REAL Bedtime Story

*Care Bears cavorting ‘neath bright morning sun
 Kittens and puppies all having their fun
 Flowers do sway to the music so nice
 Courtesy of the twelve fiddling mice


Curtsy and bow as the dancers all do
 Trip the fantastic – a new waltz or two
 Rainbows appear in a cloudless blue sky
 Lions and lambs all together do lie


“Thank you” and “Please” are the words of the day
 No one need tussle to get their own way
 Lollipops grow on the branches of trees
 When the snow falls, we seem never to freeze


Every day’s bright with it’s magical fill
 Everyone’s healthy, no one can get ill
 Women are gorgeous, the men are all sleek
 Seven days loafing makes up our work week


(*looks around…*)
 …_I think the youngsters have been lulled to sleep…
_

Suddenly Hell came to rule once again
 Bringing back sorrow and worry and pain
 Eating the puppies and slaying the cats
 Throwing Care Bears into bubbling vats


Stomping on flowers and poisoning mice
 Using the bones of the dancers as dice
 Polluting the rainbow and darkening sky
 Slaying the lions and lambs as they lie


“No, Master, NO!!!” are the words that they love
 There’ll be no salvation from Heaven above
 Lollipops sodden with toxic decays
 Snowflakes are plague-filled, just like the old days!


Eternal darkness is what we do see
 I can’t save you and you cannot save me
 Women are demons, the men are much worse
 Our work week is endless, our Satanic curse


(*_Oops – the kids are waking up…_*)


And so did the children live out their glad days
 Exploring the world and its wondrous ways
 It’s lunch time, I think – have a hot dog or two
 You really love me, and I truly love you!


Good night, boys and girls…


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## Diwundrin (Jan 20, 2014)

Now that sir, is my kind of poetry.


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## SifuPhil (Jan 20, 2014)

Diwundrin said:


> Now that sir, is my kind of poetry.



Somehow I had a feeling you'd like it.


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## Diwundrin (Jan 20, 2014)

Shows that much eh?


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## SifuPhil (Jan 20, 2014)

Diwundrin said:


> Shows that much eh?



Hey, weird is the new normal, dinja know?


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## Rainee (Jan 21, 2014)

I am no good at writing poetry or versing them but I do like poems of all sorts.. mainly 
character ones like Australian Bush Ballads.. Man from Snowy River its my favourite ..I had an 
uncle who could sit and recite it word for word.. what a memory he had.. also he remembered and 
recited a longish poem its called How many legs has a caterpillar got.. probably about a 6 page poem.. it 
was a delight to listen to him but sadly he has passed on .. now here is a little ditty I found , no doubt you 
all have seen it one way or another on the net or emails.. but its true and I think it applies to us all.. 

*Friends Without Faces 

We sit and we type and we stare at our screens, 
We can't help but wonder what all of this means. 
With mouse in hand ...we roam through this maze, 
On an infinite search...lost in a daze. 

We chat with each other, we type all our woes 
At times we'll band together to gang up on our foes. 
We wait for somebody, to type out our name 
We want recognition, but it is always the same. 

Soon friendships are formed - but - why we don't know, 
But some of these friendships, will flourish and grow. 
We give kisses and hugs, and sometimes we'll flirt, 
In IMs we chat deeply, and reveal why we hurt. 

Why is it on screen, we are so easily bold, 
Telling our secrets, that have never been told. 
The answer is simple, it is as clear as a bell, 
We all have our problems, and need someone to tell. 

We can't tell real people, but tell someone we must 
So we turn to our 'puters ...and to those we can trust. 
Even though it sounds crazy...the truth still remains, 
Most of my "friends" have no faces...and odd little names.

By Laura.*


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## Rainee (Jan 21, 2014)

One of my favourites by Australian Authors.. 
CJ Dennis..
Wot`s in a Name.!!
Wot's in a name? -- she sez . . . An' then she sighs, 
An' clasps 'er little 'ands, an' rolls 'er eyes. 
"A rose," she sez, "be any other name 
Would smell the same.
Oh, w'erefore art you Romeo, young sir? 
Chuck yer ole pot, an' change yer moniker!"

Doreen an' me, we bin to see a show -- 
The swell two-dollar touch. Bong tong, yeh know. 
A chair apiece wiv velvit on the seat; 
A slap-up treat. 
The drarmer's writ be Shakespeare, years ago, 
About a barmy goat called Romeo.

"Lady, be yonder moon I swear!" sez 'e. 
An' then 'e climbs up on the balkiney; 
An' there they smooge a treat, wiv pretty words 
Like two love-birds. 
I nudge Doreen. She whispers, "Ain't it grand!" 
'Er eyes is shining an' I squeeze 'er 'and.

'Wot's in a name?" she sez. 'Struth, I dunno. 
Billo is just as good as Romeo. 
She may be Juli-er or Juli-et -- 
'E loves 'er yet. 
If she's the tart 'e wants, then she's 'is queen, 
Names never count ... But ar, I like "Doreen!"

A sweeter, dearer sound I never 'eard; 
Ther's music 'angs around that little word, 
Doreen! ... But wot was this I starts to say 
About the play? 
I'm off me beat. But when a bloke's in love 
'Is thorts turns 'er way, like a 'omin' dove.

This Romeo 'e's lurkin' wiv a crew -- 
A dead tough crowd o' crooks -- called Montague. 
'Is cliner's push -- wot's nicknamed Capulet -- 
They 'as 'em set. 
Fair narks they are, jist like them back-street clicks, 
Ixcep' they fights wiv skewers 'stid o' bricks.

Wot's in a name? Wot's in a string o' words? 
They scraps in ole Verona wiv the'r swords, 
An' never give a bloke a stray dog's chance, 
An' that's Romance. 
But when they deals it out wiv bricks an' boots 
In Little Lon., they're low, degraded broots.

Wot's jist plain stoush wiv us, right 'ere to-day, 
Is "valler" if yer fur enough away. 
Some time, some writer bloke will do the trick 
Wiv Ginger Mick, 
Of Spadger's Lane. 
_'E'll_ be a Romeo, 
When 'e's bin dead five 'undred years or so.

Fair Juli-et, she gives 'er boy the tip. 
Sez she: "Don't sling that crowd o' mine no lip; 
An' if you run agin a Capulet, 
Jist do a get." 
'E swears 'e's done wiv lash; 'e'll chuck it clean. 
(Same as I done when I first met Doreen.)

They smooge some more at that. Ar, strike me blue! 
It gimme Joes to sit an' watch them two! '
E'd break away an' start to say good-bye, 
An' then she'd sigh 
"Ow, Ro-me-o!" an' git a strangle-holt, 
An' 'ang around 'im like she feared 'e'd bolt.

Nex' day 'e words a gorspil cove about 
A secret weddin'; an' they plan it out.
'E spouts a piece about 'ow 'e's bewitched: 
Then they git 'itched ... 
Now, 'ere's the place where I fair git the pip! 
She's 'is for keeps, an' yet 'e lets 'er slip!

Ar! but 'e makes me sick! A fair gazob! 
E's jist the glarsey on the soulful sob, 
'E'll sigh and spruik, a' 'owl a love-sick vow --
(The silly cow!) 
But when 'e's got 'er, spliced an' on the straight 
'E crools the pitch, an' tries to kid it's Fate.

Aw! Fate me foot! Instid of slopin' soon 
As 'e was wed, off on 'is 'oneymoon, 
'Im an' 'is cobber, called Mick Curio, 
They 'ave to go 
An' mix it wiv that push o' Capulets. 
They look fer trouble; an' it's wot they gets.

A tug named Tyball (cousin to the skirt) 
Sprags 'em an' makes a start to sling off dirt. 
Nex' minnit there's a reel ole ding-dong go -— 
'Arf round or so. 
Mick Curio, 'e gets it in the neck, 
"Ar rats!" 'e sez, an' passes in 'is check.

Quite natchril, Romeo gits wet as 'ell. 
"It's me or you!" 'e 'owls, an' wiv a yell, 
Plunks Tyball through the gizzard wiv 'is sword, 
'Ow I ongcored! 
"Put in the boot!" I sez. "Put in the boot!" 
"'Ush!" sez Doreen ... "Shame!" sez some silly coot.

Then Romeo, 'e dunno wot to do. 
The cops gits busy, like they allwiz do, 
An' nose around until 'e gits blue funk 
An' does a bunk. 
They wants 'is tart to wed some other guy. 
"Ah, strike!" she sez. "I wish that I could die!"

Now, this 'ere gorspil bloke's a fair shrewd 'ead. 
Sez 'e "I'll dope yeh, so they'll _think_ yer dead." 
(I tips 'e was a cunnin' sort, wot knoo 
A thing or two.) 
She takes 'is knock-out drops, up in 'er room: 
They think she's snuffed, an' plant 'er in 'er tomb.

Then things gits mixed a treat an' starts to whirl. 
'Ere's Romeo comes back an' finds 'is girl 
Tucked in 'er little coffing, cold an' stiff, 
An' in a jiff, 
'E swallows lysol, throws a fancy fit, 
'Ead over turkey, an' 'is soul 'as flit.

Then Juli-et wakes up an' sees 'im there, 
Turns on the water-works an' tears 'er 'air, 
"Dear love," she sez, "I cannot live alone!" 
An' wiv a moan, 
She grabs 'is pockit knife, an' ends 'er cares ... 
"_Peanuts or lollies!_" sez a boy upstairs.


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## poetry360 (Jan 22, 2014)

*Framed *

My eyes opened
coming out of a dream
when I noticed something strange.

I wasn’t looking out the window
the window was looking at me.

An examination,
black ledges and lines,
window sills, glass,
everything staring.

I filled the corners and the cracks
and the crevices and the holes
in the eye of the window
and the window frame.

I am on display.
Undressing, eating, sleeping, aging,
a piece in a museum.

http://poetry360.wordpress.com


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