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These are poetry drafts. I consider all my poetry in a constant state of drafting, some with revision ongoing, others merely gathering dust. Some have been published but will still be considered drafts.

N.B. When these posts were imported I noticed some of my reblogs also got pulled in. It should be ovious from the contents that they are reblogs from other writers. I am in the process of removing those posts.

EVENING CUPPA

I’m not everyone’s
cup of tea
I’m coffee
gone cold
unsweetened
old
bitter and
going mouldy
re-heatable – surely
tasty – nah
if I’m in
your cup
throw me out
wash it clean
start anew
another brew
bitter sweet memories
replaced by
sugar and
spicy treats

MINDFULNESS GONE AWRY

I’m surfing on my
latest brain wave,
clarity hits me
as I fall in a
momentary laps of
concentration –
mindfulness gone
awry

CREATOR OF DREAMS

I am sky and ocean, waves and sand on days of towels and melting ice cream.

I am beacon of hope, your guiding light when all seems lost, darkness rules with no end in sight.

I am blankets wrapped on cold winters night with stars above and holding of hands.

I am radiating suns, the first light and the waning moon, the warmth that melts and cracks in ice.

I am beginning, I am end and I am everything you cannot comprehend.

I am reflections in mirrors, flickering in eyes, the kiss on the cheek and a whispering wind.

I am all you wouldn’t dare to be, all your wishes and prayers unfulfilled, always the answers staring you in the face.

I am to you as you are to me, one and the same, the creator of dreams.

S.1.R.3

The creation,
spawning by dividing
energy twice and twice only,
making the parts rejoined
observing the undeniable truth
the whole will be greater than
the parts

yet

the process kills,
weakens me with
every new attempt,
an agonising fever of
the mind
bringing me one step closer
to conceding

DISTORTING TIME

Time changes perception
as perception distorts time
I hope with time my
perception of you
be distorted to allow
for another to
hold my heart

WHISPERING WIND

What be divided
among those
with nought
to divide

What bones
be broken
by those
with no spine

What whispers
in the wind
among those
with no voice

What path
lies ahead
for those
with no choice

CHAINS OF PERFECTION

The painting

never finished,

The poem

without ending,

The words

almost spoken,

Chains of perfection – Suffocation of souls

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