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Tag: ageing

Childhood

Posted on 10/11/2020 by Dove Grey

“Look mummy! There’s a shape-changer on the roof! First it was a man, and now it is a cougar!” “-Don’t be silly, boy, shape-changers don’t climb onto rooves.” “Yes yes! I saw it! He’s there.”   The sun beat down on the mother and son, Their little tea party on the deck continued. Howard finished…

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The Past

Posted on 13/10/2020 by Dove Grey

A yellow moon glowers, Over my homely mansion. A werewolf stalks on the pavement level. Here in the trees are the huge boughs, Of the neighborhood. We dwell, in the night-time, Above the ground, In a complex of closed apartments, Made of wood. The sickening dim light of the streets, Shines up weakly at the…

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Living

Posted on 04/10/2020 by Dove Grey

I was reared in the Church of Don’t-Worry-About-It, Under Saint Nobody. Nobody has stayed by my side all my life. He never criticizes, or he doesn’t answer back. Nobody walks with me, So I walk with nobody. He’s fine. I went with him to the Wailing Wall, Where I began to bang my head. My…

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her classroom breath

Posted on 15/09/202022/09/2020 by Dean English

her classroom breath her boney cheek a child groins my cottoned hip river banks the tint of clay rock and flowers the wind devours blossom, ripped, resisting holds, vivid vivid blood on gi. cut from cheek to chin as I fell into his hand misreading what his move was the bleeding stopped another girl goes…

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from Blank Notime Pre-Cortex Lands #2

Posted on 11/06/2020 by Dean English

3 ———————————————— A year I watched a woman disappear each week the light a little more unclear her eyes I saw a little more of Less each time; knew the husband-kind a stranger at her side, driving arm, the hand he put the ring upon her finger, with the coin to pay the tollbooth operator—which…

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from Blank Notime Pre-Cortex Lands

Posted on 10/06/202012/06/2020 by Dean English

2 ———————————————— tough & happy, crystal eyes ruled thirty years the public courts swooped across the competition ladder, lifted, in her power serve grunted out the backhand, the unflinching doubles net game hydraulic smooth pivot in her netball golfing well as men, driving Drinkers’ drinkers home in cold conditions as the Past dissolve, in the…

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The Son’s Confession.

Posted on 02/04/2020 by Dove Grey

One day I’ll be famous, with power and great wealth, I’d be in perfect body of sound mind and good health. Everyone will like me, I’d be of good repute, If a person contradicts me, my butler will refute Them, and put my reputation on a silver pedestal, No-one knows what else I do so…

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la fine dell’amore

Posted on 14/02/2020 by Dove Grey

He was sworn against divorce, While she had had two marriages already. They were together for only eight years. In his seventh decade he gave her a scooter. She accepted, and rode around on it, Through the mountain roads of Italy, Floral dress, light shoes, Half-dome helmet, no lipstick. Just like in a festival film!…

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Affair

Posted on 09/12/2019 by Dove Grey

If I was in love, I would take her everywhere with me, Show her around, clothe her dine with her bed her. And she needs drinks, I’d provide, To call this friend an alibi – One to run to, one to hold, As days will pass, in years of old. If I was young, not…

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from FLOTATION DEVICES

Posted on 12/09/201813/09/2018 by Dean English

I was feeling a light despondency and I could not work out where it was coming from. then I remembered while trying on sunglasses at the recycling store as I pulled back my hood in the changing room mirror and admired under the skylight the last colour of faded -out brown ginger & corn blond…

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As You & I

Posted on 19/08/201819/08/2018 by Dean English

Clap your hands and it’s over, I can see that coming, already the guy is one. We go inside the supermarket and stand by the clay pumpkin stack, the carrots and the pale greens, and feel forward into it. The people, pushing by, may take of our stillness and quiet. It is good here, the…

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Flotation Devices #1

Posted on 08/07/201823/10/2019 by Dean English

There’s a poem in this, I’m certain, the memory came while reading the curtains parted into the hearts of other poets: a summer evening sea swim alone below the flower tree of antipodean Christmas’. I’d kicked it . all . drugs and mothers, but the sugar; I’d quit my full-time work making either bread or…

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