pockets full of solitude

The Lonely Author

pockets full of solitude


Pockets full of solitude
accompany me
down desolate streets
as I think of you
wrapped in the silence
of your room

Red lights taunt
Like school yard bullies
Your words haunt
Every step I take
Rushed into a dead end
I should have read
the signs

Trapped in darkness
I find solace
when I imagine
your loneliness
walking hand in hand
with mine

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Bill Hope, on #LisaBurtonRadio

Entertaining Stories

Lisa Burton

Hey there, all you sleight of hand experts, pickpockets, and Artful Dodgers of every kind. You’ve landed on Lisa Burton Radio, the only show that brings you interviews with the characters you love. I’m your host, Lisa the robot girl, and my special guest today is Bill Hope.”Welcome to the show, Bill.”

“How do, Miss Lisa. Glad to be here.”

“My bio says you’ve lived a pretty colorful life. There is a certain romance to being a thief. What is your preferred method of operation?”

“I work the streets and any place where the moneyed gents gather – theater lobbies, shops, horsecars, crowds watching parades and arguments and fights. The easiest hits are country bumpkins in wide-brimmed hats that walk around real wide-eyed staring at the crowds and sandwichmen and traffic with their coat open wide showing a shirtfront with a peach of a spark so when a mob of…

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Mother Nature

All About Life

You remember her right? The one who gives us colours that even the best artists in the World can’t hope to recreate.


Who creates things so intricate that a Swiss watch maker would be jealous.

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Who’s valleys and mountains are beyond the scope of the finest architects.


That’s one clever woman isn’t it? It does beg the question then…….why do we keep doing our damnedest to bugger it all up?

Mother nature

In order to make things we don’t need that we then throw away……….


I wonder why we keep doing it….what do you think?

Lisa x

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Kevin Parish

How did the enchantress steal my light

Guarded as my heart was by thee

She who crept stealthily into the night

Whilst you, my love, slumbered so sweet


Canines rested without midnight feast

Oh ,what a meal could have been

Yet there they lay by the hearth restfully

Whilst the enchantress did get in


A spell cast there above my bed

Words piercing whilst dreams carried me

Never the morn shall I see again

For in darkness – will I ever sleep


Image:  https://www.pexels.com/photo/dark-darkness-loneliness-mystery-1446948/

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Closing Act.

Blue Fences

Back here again.

The most familiar place I’ve ever been.

This is the part where I’m forgotten… again.

Where I fold into the shadows of memories that blend in with empty spaces and cold wind.

The part where I am let go of.

Where I come crashing down from above. Where I’m reminded that the embarrassing fall out of love often comes with a beastly shove.

The part where the end is near. Closer than it appears.

Where my eyes build up with tears- blinding me, so I won’t have to face my fears.

The part where I become another “was”.

Because my “ends and odds” are finally realized as flaws.

So before my scene gets paused and the curtain draws…

Let me give my best.

If it has to end,

let it be to the sound of a grand applause.

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From there to here…

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

There will be tales to tell, experiences and photographs of wonderful places to share… but for now, I am just back and beginning to catch up on the comments and emails I could not answer while in the north.

The days were taken up with the Silent Eye workshop and the road, and the old hotel, nestled beneath the hills and with walls several feet thick, had the patchiest signal imaginable. I gave up trying to keep up and have a lot of catching up to do, a fish tank to cleana nd a dog who needs cuddles when I get home from work…

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You made me forget

Poetry, Short Stories, Illustrations by Troy Towns

You’ve blessed me to forget
that heart is just a pump,
that the Sun is but a star
and that I’m a doubtful grump.
You’ve painted world of gray
these unexpected colors.
A brush of pale, light hair
piercing heart like arrows.
The unsightly dirt roads
turned into our love-trails.
Dead leaves on the ground
placid seas for our sails.
You’ve done all of this
and more than I disclose
with your smiles and winks
and one wiggle of your toes.

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Harvesting Hecate

In the park, the wild cherry is the last tree of autumn.  The others have already embraced winter, skeletal limbs clawing at the sky.  But the cherry still shimmers with golden leaves that drift drowsily to the ground.  A pool of saffron encircles its base.  Where the other leaves in the park are crisp and shrivelled, those from the cherry are sleek and shiny as though they still live.  The tree is like a beacon on this otherwise grey afternoon.  It draws the eye and not only because of its colour but because it is clearly something ‘other’ in the drab landscape.

Walking under the cherry is like walking into another time or place.  Time slows as the leaves descend.  I am in a different world, lit from within by the gold-clad branches and the fallen sun beneath.  My skin sings of yellow and gold and I’m sure that if…

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Smorgasbord Poetry – Colleen Chesebro’s Tuesday #Poetry Challenge – Off Piste with Season of Goodwill.

Smorgasbord Blog Magazine

This week there are three prompts as part of Colleen Chesebro Poetry Challenge no. 114, 115, 116 as Colleen is going to be taking a well earned break.. So no recaps until early January. But Colleen has left you the prompts for those three weeks if you would like to continue with the series.

I have been very bold and gone off piste with my effort this week.. I wanted to try my hand at a festive Nonet which is new format that Colleen has introduced. Like an etheree but with nine lines beginning with the 9 syllables and ending with one.

Anyway here it is and I hope you enjoy..a little bit of fun. Season of Goodwill

If you would like to use the prompts that Colleen has left for us then please head over to the post: https://colleenchesebro.com/2018/12/11/colleens-weekly-tanka-tuesday-poetry-challenges-no-114-115-116-synonymsonly/

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