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Our corroded dalliance

Forged by deceitful assurances

Manacling my essence to your will

“This was the first one I read and  I went on to read it over and over. “Manacling my essence to your will.” My goodness, that line is currently residing in my marrow.  Sad, raw, emotional, and profound.  A most deserving winner.” Judge’s Thoughts

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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if this whole life after death thing does actually exist,
assuming that it’s alright
y’know?
What with me being an atheist.
Do you reckon if I come back
would it be okay to be a film projectionist?
Specifically,
if it’s not too cheeky,
I’d like work in those silent years,
when the Lumiere Brothers locomotive
supposedly incited irrational fears.
As cigarette smoke,
obscured the screen,
and monochromatic celluloid,
was … well,
everything.

It’s nothing remarkable

like him if truth be told

nondescriptly uniform

brown leather

brass locks

just a briefcase

my Grandfather’s

battered and aged with time

like him

scarred and ruptured surfaces

like his skin

peeling away from seams

like his mind.

just a briefcase

locked with a combination

six numbers,

that spin and twirl in gold

six numbers,
 that once

I read in blue as he

dozed, unaware of me pulling up his sleeve

revealing

six faded numbers

etched into his skin.

We walked, you and I, our footsteps echoes in the night. Walked, silent effigies holding hands. You spoke. I listened. You explained. I pleaded. We walked, you, I. Through pools of dirty light our gazes lingering on cracked tarmac underfoot. We stopped. The irony not lost. To be back under that streetlight. Whose glare had once illuminated, a boy kissing a girl. We stopped there for the longest time. Until your fingers slipped away. Your hand letting go of mine, I waited. Under that light. Till the echo of your steps were consumed by the dark. Photo mine taken of street art by My Dog Sighs 2012.

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One of the places that got me writing again was Cowbird. A virtual library of writing, poetry, sound and image colabs that at first seemed incredibly daunting but soon transformed into a community of incredibly supportive and encouraging writers/artists.

As Cowbird describes itself:

“Cowbird is a library of human experience.

We are a community of tens of thousands of storytellers, located all over the world. We offer free and simple storytelling tools for anyone to use, combining photos, audio, and text into heartfelt personal vignettes.

We’ve designed Cowbird to reflect the basic truths that all human lives are interconnected, that great stories can come from anywhere, and that we can learn a lot from each other, once we make the time to listen.

This is a place to slow down and go deeper — our mission is to build to world’s first public library of human experience, so the knowledge and wisdom we accumulate as individuals may live on as a part of the commons, available for this and future generations to look to for guidance.”

The only real drawback with putting work on Cowbird is that you lose any rights in terms of publishing potential as you have placed your creation firmly in the public sphere. But if you are comfortable with that then you might want to explore, if not as a writer, then as a reader.

To help here’s a rare stab at (bad) poetry that I subjected the Cowbird faithful to ….