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Roman Hoard - April 2010
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Found
- Hits: 1354
Hot days, quiet nights
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1556
The Stampede has begun to take it's toll, cancellations, slow lunches, evenings.
It would be a relief were it not for the heat. There's air conditioning, but it doesn't help much, at all, it's stand around in a vest and tie and feel your life blood ebbing away.
There's the making of notes, the other staff find me mysterious as I hack away in my journal, elaborating upon brief flashes of inspiration, cutting down inspiration as it ripens and is ready to harvest, there's a lot of catching up to be done...
My love's an idle whore
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Uncategorized
- Hits: 1097
that lies splayed upon the bed
My love's a poisoned feast
on which everyone has fed
My love's an open sore
that festers with disease
My love's with another;
And now my love has ceased.
betrayal
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Uncategorized
- Hits: 1162
betrayal
A cool spring night and you run to your loverrun quick to your star-crossed lover, the night is young and full of promise
stealthy and quiet, across moon dappled lawns, dark hedges
she'll be waiting
heart lightly racing in your chest
feet bare in the dew whetted grass and crushed clover,
downy lanes and vaulting fences;
the fragrant bushes, new mowed lawns, scented blossoms
thoughts of her perfumed down-filled covers
limbs intertwining, thoughts
In the light beneath her window; you can smell her, music, catch your breath,
Beneath her window you catch your breath, waiting, savoring, anticipating
And you listen
Within there's the sound of another, of another
and you listen
The nights been shattered into ten thousand stars,
slender shards that rain frozen upon the ground,
The night has fallen from the sky
And lies broken all around
Listen now to your constant lover;
recall the promises of how there would be no other;
Listen, and the light from the window falls upon your blackened face,
The new moon's shadows writhe upon your face
Run now, through moldering leaves crushed underfoot,
through tangling roots that trip you
through thorns and branches that whip you
through dark mazes and alleyways,
run through frost crackled streets and bitter alleyways
don't be discovered...
Tangent. One of the many hydra's severed in Chalk Circle, and still the poem plagues me.
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