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The poetry sucked out, there is left

Coffee grounds of yesterday’s prose

Dark in the pot and murky

Tasting of ash and tears. No music.

The band has left, gone home to a

Hot dinner and a cold bottle, leaving only

Words that fall like

Breaking dishes on a tile floor.

Promises

Twice you have pledged to quit, and twice you lied

To believe you now is moral suicide.

You vowed to love me till the wide world’s end.

You lied. You have another pledged, yet once again

You swear to quit, like Ulysses homeward bound,

Storm tossed and vengeance crossed,

From witches island, from the wrath of Gods,

The best excuses in the world for being late

To raise your sons and daughters. I have woven

Every dream, unravelling by nights the web of lies

And every dawn, picked up the loom again

Rewove the fiction of belief.

I am no kind Penelope, but more like one

Who wove a poisoned cloak, a wedding gift,

And killed the children.

Do not mistake one woman for another.

We are not all from the same cloth.

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In Requiem

 

If I should die

Before you then

I wonder, would you cry?

Begin again

Bury the body that was me,

And simply pass me by?

If you should die

Before I leave,

I think that I shall try

Pretence at grief

And plant a large and leafy tree

Above the place you lie.

And I shall rest,

In that tree’s shade

Should I be blessed

With greater age.

And thank its generosity

For sheltering a nest.

That tree grown tall

As good trees do

Will remind all

As it feeds off you

That out of rottenness, in time

Nature makes all things sublime.

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