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Cancer Pink Ribbon shadow crimescenetape

Thought I saw the word “lover” written down


on the white sheet of paper, which showed blank.


It was only my mind playing around.


Sort of premonition, ‘ suppose, to thank.




But interesting that “lover” stood out.


I saw it clearly nestling on the page.


Surely something like that, won’t come to nowt.


Such a vision cannot be simply staged.




The one word. The rest completely faded.


It must have been bold, when all else was faint.


In my conscious, more strongly pervaded.


That appeared, a miracle of a saint.




“Lover”, the sole point of this expression.


Ev’rything about, is at discretion.

Sonnets :3

shape Square


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The Trauma.


Cordoned off, the site of the happening.


White tape drawn taut. Its function to ‘keep out’


all except those with expertise to bring,


to examine the scene as though devout.




Religiously looking for any clues


to ascertain exactly what occurred.


To be denied the knowledge, they refuse,


even if suppositions get inferred.




Identities are to be established.


Names of victim and the perpetrator.


In this matter, want nothing to be missed,


to catch who did it sooner or later.




Then the remains and the mess cleared away


for ground to be walked as if normal day.

Dust and ash, the interim residue.


Even that will scatter and disappear.


For the cost of living, must pay its due.


Inevitable, regardless of fear.




Instantly passing into history,


moments which I have intimately known.


The miracle of life, a mystery.


Death obscurer still, but cannot disown.




Maudlin, in my current morbidity.


Not coming to terms with mortality.


Although it’s closer and closer to me,


the time when dead for all eternity.




How to face up to that powerlessness,


when nothing to put in the emptiness.

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Love Song with metaphor.

How unlucky to die in that manner.


Cancer closing down the organs of life.


Must have shown up darkly on the scanner.


Growing, as a life form would.  Its seeds rife.




The years of smoking were, no doubt, the cause.


Lung disease the predictable outcome.


Perhaps unhappiness also ensured


the addiction to the smoke and tar scum.




My dedicated work mate for long years.


Loyal too, a feature of her giving.


‘though ended badly; a break down, in tears,


would not wish such quick end to her living.




Could be I, or the work, contributed.


In this verse my thanks not inhibited.

Finding a metaphor for my love song


Is not very easy. Most have been done.


Like to be quite sure I don’t get it wrong.


Don’t want you to tease me when it is sung.




Appreciate disasters don’t matter,


because if you love me, that’s all that does.


Tears or laughter; if my hopes should shatter,


or, as joy overcomes me, from our love.




For your beauty, of course, a work of art,


or, in summer you rivaling the sun.


You’ll see, I’m not false, I’ll give you my heart.


Give me yours. In truth, we’ll become as one.




Not the rugged hero to rescue you.


You know, it’s about how much I love you.

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In Space.


Travelling at fearsome velocity.


Metal beast showing its ferocity.


The merest flash of luminoscity.


Gone, before any curiosity.




It relies on nothing being out there.


If no substance, like flies, it doesn’t care.


Something of major weight, just say a prayer.


Smithereens and non-existence to share.




But, on a pretty safe trajectory.


What go through, overwhelmingly, empty.


Pretend, now, it has no effect on me.


‘though to finish would be peremptory.




Hurtle on with me as sole passenger.


Laughably, I’m deemed the craft’s manager.

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Song.  (I Insist.)

How brave I am, with her, at our ages.


Looking for a new venture; a new home.


Breaking free, once again, of our cages.


Together in this, so I’m not alone.




How courageous we are stepping forward.


Not discouraged by problems unforeseen.


‘though overcoming them could be awkward,


we’ll try to make reality, this dream.




There’s no denying our bold hopefulness


for a future with new features starting.


Responding positively must impress,


so that what we achieve is exciting.




We set out confident to defy fears.


Truly remarkable given our years.

Surrender now, I’ve got you surrounded.


Give yourself up to me, I’ll take you in.


When you know the truth, you’ll be astounded.


If you come with me, then we can begin.




There’s no escaping. I’ve had you staked out.


It’s not a matter of dead or alive.


Once captured, you’ll soon know what it’s about.


You’ll be released as soon as you arrive.




But have to get you up close and pers’nal.


Look you straight in the eyes, for connection.


But not so you’re a cornered animal.


In fact, arresting ‘cause you’re perfection.




There’s absolutely no need to resist.


I have to love you. I simply insist.

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The expectation is to die alone.


Isolation up to the very end.


Whether a hospital bed or at home,


the shroud of disconnection will descend.




Maybe a last person will come to call.


Discuss whatever, and put me to rights.


A blessing if on my wavelength at all.


At least can say they had me in their sights.




How I will long to have read, a poem.


Pref’rably one of mine from recent time.


Only, might make it easier going


to enjoy a sentiment and a rhyme.




Then alone in my bed to face the night.


No meaning, to worry about the light.




To Die Alone.

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(Rhythm and Blues.)

Love Potion number 10.

Stumblin’ and tumblin’, but I’m not suff’rin’.


Feeling no harm. Not a shot in the arm.


Fallin’ and bouncin’, but sure it’s nothin’.


Not need no soothin’ balm. Or pills from pharm.




Hurtlin’ along with a rock ‘n’ roll song.


Intoxicated, as though on the booze.


The beat is strong, and the band does no wrong.


I’m heady this close to rhythm and blues.




Dancin’ like a loon to the loud played tune.


I lose my feet, becoming indiscreet.


I simply assume I’ll be up real soon.


But rollin’ around along with the beat.




Can’t say, Mr. Bouncer, ‘have an excus’


Got heady that close to rhythm and blues

Back to the gypsy with the golden tooth.


Had the desire to see her once again.


Asked, can you help me some more, Madam Ruth.


She said “try my Love Potion number ten”.




It’s even more potent than number nine.


She made up the brew right there in the sink.


Smoke and bubbles, then after a short time,


she said “it’s ready”, and I took a drink.




I thought it tasted absolutely right.


And then I began to feel the delight.


And wanted to kiss ev’ryone in sight.


Heaven knows who I asked to spend the night.




Gonna take some for my woman, and then


stay close, after Love Potion number ten.

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When high frequency radio was new,


how trendy to be termed The Sonic Man.


Wireless hero, along the wavelengths flew.


Pitched long, short or even medium band.




My self-attributed designation


sounds like that, but to clarify tune in.


Multitude of poems, explanation,


in a format to me that’s mattering.




Not make me a biological freak.


Ext r’ordinary strength. Like Hulk expand.


Got it slightly wrong if this way to speak.


Not meaning the name The Bionic Man.




So many verse, so to speak, in the can.


I can now call myself The Sonnet Man.



Death of Angela.

bed sun small house man on floor (2) exlamation