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Oral  Tradition

Mouths are at their most
Sensitive when they are mute.
If you’ve ever been in  one,
Like Jonah, you will perhaps understand
How companionable it is to be amongst Krill. 

Human maws, unless house trained,
Become suppurating wounds,
 they make a mess every where.   
We should tongue the air more often
Like waking lizards and appreciate 
That moment in the movies
When lovers look into each
 other’s eyes for the truth
and not their lovely lips for the lies.

© Bernard  Pearson

Oral Tradition Mouths are at their most Sensitive when they are mute. If you’ve ever been in one, Like Jonah, you will perhaps understand How companionable it is to be amongst Krill. Human maws, unless house trained, Become suppurating wounds, they make a mess every where. We should tongue the air more often Like waking lizards and appreciate That moment in the movies When lovers look into each other’s eyes for the truth and not their lovely lips for the lies. © Bernard Pearson

Once again thanks to @thebrokenspine.co.uk and @alanparrywriter.co.uk for hosting #PoetryAbout #Mouths see below look forward to reading everyone's throughout the day

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Auditory Hallucinations
I’ve started hearing noises,  not ot voices, but sound tics.
I hear the night,
s.s.s sscraping at the Window,  So I get up and For a moment
Am tempted to let it in, The Street is quiet,
 familiar  cars,
Like   A  necklace  worn by
A resting actress, Drape The road on either side  .
I see, a  couple helpless,
Puppets in the toy Cupboard of their lust, under a blood orange.  streetlamp
I close the curtain.
Return to bed.
Wondering if other people hear things, Noises I mean not voices.
Have I already  said  that?
I’ve never tasted Sushi Perhaps now
I never  will .

© Bernard Pearson

Auditory Hallucinations I’ve started hearing noises, not ot voices, but sound tics. I hear the night, s.s.s sscraping at the Window, So I get up and For a moment Am tempted to let it in, The Street is quiet, familiar cars, Like A necklace worn by A resting actress, Drape The road on either side . I see, a couple helpless, Puppets in the toy Cupboard of their lust, under a blood orange. streetlamp I close the curtain. Return to bed. Wondering if other people hear things, Noises I mean not voices. Have I already said that? I’ve never tasted Sushi Perhaps now I never will . © Bernard Pearson

thanks from a snowy Oswestry to @thebrokenspine.co.uk ans @alanparrywriter.co.uk for hosting #PoetryAbout #Static here's a little offering

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Huge thanks to @thebrokenspine.co.uk and @alanparrywriter.co.uk for once again hosting #PoetryAbout #Desire here's a little poem from 'In Free Fall' a small selection of my poetry published by www.leafbyleafpress.com

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Also, I signed up for the @thebrokenspine.co.uk #PoetryAbout Christmas Open Mic night in December today, so GO ME

( @alanparrywriter.co.uk is there a theme for the Open Mic?)

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drop your armor
and the glory of your weapons
and open your mind
to heed this valuable lesson:
surrender is a strength
and victory can be weak —-
depending on the circumstance
and the company that you keep 🙏🏽
~ my ✍🏽🤍

#poetryabout #ceasefire 🕊️
@alanparrywriter.co.uk
@thebrokenspine.co.uk

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Text of a poem

Text of a poem

A meso-American type clay figurine with headress, necklaces, feathered skirt and wings resembling Aztec or Mayan figures

A meso-American type clay figurine with headress, necklaces, feathered skirt and wings resembling Aztec or Mayan figures

#poetryabout #keepsakes
#poetry #blueskypoetry

A clay souvenir statue is responsible

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Image is a poem written for my 'sun' on the occasion of their sixteenth birthday this week (May 2025.)

Sweet Supernova
by Nancy Forde

for my ‘Sun’ as you turn sixteen

My own Centauri AB
Two heartbeats at the 
First ultrasound.
One at the second.
Rigil Kentaurus (A): Class G. Bigger. 
1.5 times brighter than the sun.
Toliman (B): Class K. 
Smaller and cooling.

They say all stars begin as pairs.
That even the imprint of 
Our Sun’s Twin
May glimmer yet
Within the Oort Cloud

And that nebulae
Are star nurseries
Born of Supernova
The explosion of 
A dying star.

This is the origin story 
I tell you
That once the sky of you 
Shone like Tatooine’s. 

Now your nebulous twin 
Bonded by gravitational force 
Remains fixed
In the night sky

Guiding your navigation.

That the stellar light you emit so
Bright and lifegiving 
Visible now to those of us
Lucky enough to be

Caught In your luminous orbit
Hurtles to warm us through 
Vast Time and Space
From another beloved Star 
Long dead

(Credit: Nancy Forde)

Image is a poem written for my 'sun' on the occasion of their sixteenth birthday this week (May 2025.) Sweet Supernova by Nancy Forde for my ‘Sun’ as you turn sixteen My own Centauri AB Two heartbeats at the First ultrasound. One at the second. Rigil Kentaurus (A): Class G. Bigger. 1.5 times brighter than the sun. Toliman (B): Class K. Smaller and cooling. They say all stars begin as pairs. That even the imprint of Our Sun’s Twin May glimmer yet Within the Oort Cloud And that nebulae Are star nurseries Born of Supernova The explosion of A dying star. This is the origin story I tell you That once the sky of you Shone like Tatooine’s. Now your nebulous twin Bonded by gravitational force Remains fixed In the night sky Guiding your navigation. That the stellar light you emit so Bright and lifegiving Visible now to those of us Lucky enough to be Caught In your luminous orbit Hurtles to warm us through Vast Time and Space From another beloved Star Long dead (Credit: Nancy Forde)

For #PoetryAbout #Stardust
Not religious at all (am agnostic), but even I concede the miracle of my kid who, travelling at the speed of light, finally reached my womb 16 yrs ago this week after close to a decade of IF struggle. Poem for my 'sun.'
@alanparry83.bsky.social @brokenspinearts.bsky.social

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Between the Sheets
The hush is thick, the air is tight,
The moon spills silver-threaded light.
A breath, a shift, a hollow space—
Something waiting in its place.

The blanket folds, the mattress dips,
A whisper curls past parted lips.
The weight is there, the hush still deep,
Something breathes between the sheets.

Between the Sheets The hush is thick, the air is tight, The moon spills silver-threaded light. A breath, a shift, a hollow space— Something waiting in its place. The blanket folds, the mattress dips, A whisper curls past parted lips. The weight is there, the hush still deep, Something breathes between the sheets.

#Poetryabout #Betweenthesheets #horror

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An excellent shout! #Poetry #LiftToTheSky #PoetryAbout #PoetsOnBluesky

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Preview
Do you have the ticket / We all are always never going home Me reading my two poems: Do you have the ticket, and We all are always never going home. Nonbinary bus image from: https://libragender.tumblr.com/post/645406176154189824/trans-and-non-binary-buses F

Two-for-the-price of one! Me reading the director's cut of two of my poems with full sound effects, extended commentary* and interactive basket weaving class...*

#PoetryAbout, #Identity, #GenderNonConforming, #Bus, #LateBus, #Knitting, #Book, #SuperVillain

(*-lie)

soundcloud.com/ian-badcoe/d...

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Oh, gawd, tags tags tags...

#Poem, #Poetry, #Coherence, #Acceptance, #5StarHotelOnFire, #PoetryAbout, #AxiomZero

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