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Date Posted: 12:33:12 01/17/00 Mon
Author: Paul A.S.Rushton
Author Host/IP: squirrel.dur.ac.uk / 129.234.4.10
Subject: Daily Star


Just a few examples of my work in case anyone's interested. Cheap shot I know but worth a try I thought. I am a nineteen year old student @ Durham University, England.



Daily Star

I can't go outside, the sky's too charged,
She hums too loud and looms too large,
And inside nightlights box me in,
Frowning pools oppress my skin,
It takes a while to take a joke,
And worried glances dark my smoke,
Pantomime horses trail their legs,
Spill their gallons, drink the dregs,
'Laugh out louding,' satisfied,
or settling back, at least they tried,
To rig their masts on vapour trails,
And wheeze a breath to fill their sails,
Hack a greeting, raise a hand,
Rid their teeth of rascal strands,
The branching trees take many routes,
And tie me up in strange pursuits,
And here comes everyone again,
The happy, happy dancing rain,
Opium hills which black the bridge,
And Samuel Taylor Coleridge,
So there go all the kids back home,
Who's spirits crept into their phones,
Left to play with tendon toys,
And little girls with little boys,
Running scared down dampened grass,
The playground and the bandstand pass,
To sleep a night on shoulders shared,
On 'do your best,' and 'be prepared,'
So kick that child the adult way,
He'll put square pegs in paper trays,
Make bacon just like daddy did,
And take it home to his three kids,
At weekends bait and drown some fish,
And take his wife without a kiss,
Britain for Brits and France for frogs,
Anywhere for cats and dogs,
And still the trees they stir and grow,
Weep their sap to watch the show,
'Til men corrupt with all they wrote,
And grind them into matchstick boats,
So where they stood is space but still,
We'll better view the Opium hills,
Where men invent and bottle scent,
For lack of sensing sentiment,
The clouds are heavy over us,
Agitated, odourless,
They drop the happy, happy rain,
They'll make us laugh and dance again,
And hide from view the blacked out bridge,
And Samuel Taylor Coleridge.



Brainstorming

My swagger sways, I can't refrain,
The basin where I bathe my brain,
So take the silage, drink it in,
Our minds to fuse as one again,
Today's the day I washed my hair,
In opiates from Baudelaire,
And scissored shreds of juniper,
Turning spoons to lunar stirs,
Salient streams flow from alien drums,
For the pseudo soulful and their metal thumbs.



This...

If nothing else but this impends;
Then spread for me hallucinogens,
To throw my ocean forum wide,
And salivate a patient tide,
Must I believe to know belief?
Or bite a neck to show my teeth?
The mirror moves and blanks your stare,
So take this drop to curl your hair,
Madeira barrels to the ledge,
Burnt to black and off the edge,
Believing just to know belief,
To blood your neck and prove my teeth.

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