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Tim Clayton

Let us enjoy the beauty of the moment;
and the wonder of its changing face.

If it's all that there is,
It's enough.

If its face has an infinite number of facets,
It's never too many.

Body and soul,
twisting rabbit holes,
poetry and stardust.
All in the moment.

Let us enjoy the beauty of the moment;
and the wonder of its changing face.

Separated in space,
Connected in purpose,
Mistaken about each other,
Though clearly intending something great,
In a chaotic way,
May the angels protect them,
If they can.
Of course they can.
Racing to the finish,
But not the end.


My writings have been prosaic lately.
Mind you – nothing wrong with prose,
It tells a lot of stories,
But it’s not poetic.

Just saying – that’s all,
Apologizing really,
For the lackluster sentences,
And dry phrases.

The un-dazzling imagery,
And humdrum verbiage,
Ideas seated firmly on the page,
Not flying up to meet you.

Let’s see if I can
sneak something prosaic into this poetry forum
it’s that or nothing at this point.
Ironic I know.

We've all looked over the edge, into the abyss.
I fell.
Damaged and broken
It took months to climb hand over knuckle
Back to the top.

Is it ever nice to see you all again.

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I refuse to stay here,
I’ve co-operated for too long,
I should have joined those others when they left
Long time ago, I don’t belong.
I can’t remember how to get out,
I used to picture it,
Left, then right, then what?
I’ve got a key but it doesn’t fit,
I can’t get my bearings,
The walls tell stories if you can learn,
There are too many things
to remember, too many stones to overturn,
Wait a minute, though,
That pattern set into the floor,
That is the way to go,
Under the arch and through the door.
Now left, now right.
There are those others,
What are they doing here, I thought they left,
That band of brothers?

Chains don’t matter, they’ll fall to the ground,
This is only a stop on the way to outside,
When we’re finally outside we’ll be free to go round,
As we wish, as we want on the carnival ride.

Now for sure we have to get out.
I’ll use the key, we’ll get away,
I’ll must  rest first, then we’ll start, there’s no more to say,
We’ll be out of this world by the end of the day.

I’ll rest, then we leave,
Then we go, we’ll be free
As a bird in the sky,
Who finds it easy, finds it so easy, to fly. 

The Scourge

Secure the perimeter
video the floor,
close all the exits
padlock the door.

Black Pedro’s among us
Though he hasn’t been seen
He must not go free,
And beat us again.

He has to be stopped, today is the day!
He’s wily and clever, let’s get in his way!

Everyone search, let’s look high and low,
We have to locate him, and not let him go.

That’s right everybody,
my daughter’s distraught,
We must find this kitten,
or my life’s for naught.

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Evolution means,
ever-improving ways, to
realize our dreams.

Valentina Tereshkova

Sinister Scenes of Hobgoblins

Yellow eyes flashing at the edge of the night,
Hobgoblins hiding away from the light,
Trees branching out and walking away,
Weather quite awful, coming to stay.

Faces that glimmer in the bonfire’s red embers,
Ghouls we have seen, and have lately remembered,
Shrouds of thin mist in the moon’s eery glow,
Lighting the way where dark creatures will go.

Underworld visitors in our hidden places,
Horrible people with horrible faces,
Dancing round candles and living askew,
Doing the things that we’d like to do.

Pagan cavortings, sulphur scents in the air,
Bacchanalian pantomime seen everywhere,
Half man, half goat, roaring with mirth,
Scenes, not been seen since the dawn of the Earth.

Trick or treat say the voices, and loot is the goal,
Here you go says the victim, but don’t take my soul,
They run away laughing, and home they careen
Putting evil away till the next Halloween.

Of the moment

The moment in which we live, evolves
according to scientific principles,
and other insubstantial forces.
It has no end, but has real choices.

The moment is part of eternity’s span,
held together by the web of physics,
and those other insubstantial forces
weighing in from unknown sources.

Age-old parameters certainly yield
Light-speed delivery through plasma fields,  
the quantum mosaic, tested and true,
looks like a world, from an aerial view.

Atoms and particles, one foot in hard science,
The other in mystery, with cosmic compliance.
Our world, held together with gossamer glue,
or with hope and belief in the things that we do.

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