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Jam Sandwich
He grew like a weed,sprouting and towering above me,but in my eyes,he was still five years old,jam under his fingernails,reaching up with a smile and sticky hands. When he was three, he struggled to speak,but by thirteen, I couldn’t shut him up,always gabbing,babbling about the football as dinner falls from his excited mouth,a stern stare…
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It’s All Well And Good To Post A Poem On Remembrance Day, But…
Can we remember,if we make the same mistakes,as if they are new? Can they be honoured,if we walk dusty, dark paths,without recalling? Can we remember,if the past plays out the same,the second time round? Can they be honoured,if they sleep on violent streets,that never learned peace? Can we remember,if life goes on, after war,when the…
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My Father Loved His Horses
My father was always tall, just centimeters from the sky, I would pull on his legs, laughing as he collapsed, on his hands and knees, suddenly a horse, smiling and shuffling across the carpet, as if he were in a stable. I would pull myself onto his back, a princess, in the sky, with the…