Posts tagged ‘Escape’

May 26, 2019


by The Cheesesellers Wife

A desert enters your soul
hot sun settles deep into bones

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February 2, 2019


by thereluctantpoet

By Charles Robert Lindholm

I’m Not Really Sick

I Just Have Cabin Fever,

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November 9, 2017

#107 POETRY =

by thereluctantpoet

By Charles Robert Lindholm

Poetry =

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July 22, 2017


by Alanna

If I had a burrow

I would crawl into it

Make a bed of soft moss

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February 5, 2017

The Difference Between Me And You

by The Cardinal

sam_9390I think there’s been a misunderstanding.

I like rain storms, not brain storms

Real streams, not work streams

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February 4, 2017


by The Cardinal

The lights are buzzing, they’re really far too brightmoor2

The phones don’t stop ringing…this just isn’t right


I’m sipping cool tea from a plastic vending cup

There’s too much to do and I want to give up

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April 19, 2015

All I need

by Jem Croucher


Sometimes I can just escape
when I’m sitting on a train
Travelling to another business meeting
in the sunshine or the rain
I have my music and a playlist
and that is all I need
Watching the world rush by outside
whilst I travel on at speed

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January 8, 2015

Monarch’s Way

by Jem Croucher


Following King Charlie’s footsteps
Along The Monarch’s Way
To the Ring once more again we walked
On a blustery winter’s day

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October 14, 2013


by willowdot21

Photo from Cow girl dairies

Drip, drip, drip warm wet release.

It oozes out of me

Painful frozen squeeze please.

Stop the bloody pain.

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August 5, 2013

Close My Eyes

by wordypenguin

Tonight I’ll find a wishing well
Tomorrow’s a new day
Tonight I’ll find a wishing well
Before it’s too late

I need someone to show me the way
Why do my dreams keep slipping away?
Spent a whole lifetime running away

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September 13, 2012


by Unga Bunga Girl


as a child, I would escape behind the drapes that hung on the picture window at my parent’s home
the feel of comfort in hiding
the calmness of disguise

if only I could be seen for who I am
and not the troubling child they thought me to be

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September 5, 2012

The Writer.

by Jen Thompson


I sit at the desk.

I am silent.

But the screams in my head, they will not stop.

Louder and louder they become.

They shout abuse,

I feel infected.



All ideas are wrapped up inside of me.

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