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Margaret Alice Second

I Want

I want the excitement and
adventure of creative en-
deavour, I want the same
feelings, not the same

dreams, my soul should
have been sold ages ago
for the highest passion
human beings can know

for adrenaline-laden chal-
lenge and new interest
taking me to new levels
of existence, I am in need

of a new consciousness -
the old awareness is all
worn-out, driven into a
rut of routine - I need

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Pulse Of Life

The simplistic soul of the small
organism revels in sheer joy of
existence, delights in basic being
as magnificence, enjoying mani-
festation as creative realisation

Requiring no other justification for
appearance, exciting pulse of life
is quite enough, ecstatic in being
present in abundance - all that is
required for throbbing, shining

And singing in total abandon to
wanton life, passionately aware
of being there, here and every-
where, no beginning or end to
the energy that is self-aware

Intelligent electricity magnetically
loving, nurturing and propagating

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My Heart On Fire

As I read these Sturm-und-Drang
lines penned by Goethe, I feel my
heart on fire - I used to hate that
he had to leave the next day

I refused to read this poem again –
but today I know that dreams are
safe, I can read passionate de-
clarations without fear

The moment lives forever in his heart
to set fire to mine – every time I read
his fervent poem, nobody need ever
know what I am dreaming about…


“Willkommen und Abschied

In meinen Adern welches Feuer!
In meinem Herzen welche Glut! …

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YOU and I

...sharing the sweetness of soft kisses while red lips all
mischievous send an invite to the celestial gods them-
selves and the wild winds join the party thrown open to
goblins and fairies and elves and the stars seem to shine
in the lively eyes of a million lovers who all seek to find
the special one to be held tight in affectionate arms while
amorous voices whisper the sweetest words that were
ever formed and even the sun and moon throw kisses
at each other while Venus and Mars embrace in a new
understanding of love - and you and I - and YOU and I
together you and I twirl together, mad with delight…

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Voice Of Modern Poets

When we discover an admirable talent
in another person we try to encourage
it, we don't care about principles and
true north when a genius arrives, only
try to help the flame burning brighter

When this wonderful person is blocked
from realising their potential, first thing
is to keep the flame of genius burning,
if only it is possible, if only the support
is allowed, you always seemed like

The King of the Internet, to speak of
your time online being curtailed is to
present something terrible, you were
born to be the voice of modern poets
and should be free to admonish

And express all the time…

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Delicate Intricacies (Rev.)

Privileged to study delicate intricacies in
sweet-flowing terms of Lease Agreements
dramatic antiques declaiming innocence
between Lessor and Lessee

impressive controversies in who pays for
what, when and why, bewitching legalese,
magnificent sentences enshrining an
inexorable right

of Lessor to inquire of the Municipality
whether a Lessee recalcitrant is keeping
up payments, charming enquiries to ensure
accoutrement damages do not occur

can my poetic soul convey these delicacies
to the unaware ignorant of joyous rental
contracts; the enchanting discovery of
mysteriously beguiling legal jargon?

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Non-Existent Nonentity

Folded up reality, pressed thin to fit
on one page in my diary, all twenty
dimensions or however many String
Theory postulates - safely tucked
away and only the text in front of me
exists because today I am a totally
non-existent nonentity, my mind is
grey and no amount of colour in the
office, no amount of words, no notes
sounding in song, can fill the gaping
emptiness where hope once lived
let me pick up my cross of boredom
and be bored some more, tomorrow
I might feel different, if not, at least
the red-hot flames people's anger
at my being delinquent will replace
the greyness with lively pain…

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Sadness Is About

This is such a sad, sad, sad day, the sun
shining in a sad way, the very air I breathe
is sad, the music in my ears crying in violin
and sad theme, all comfort lost, security is
but a memory in the past

The flowers at my work station looking at
me sadly, yellowed leaves moving sadly
in the draft, even the ubiquitous office din
is sad, the smile on every mouth is sad,
sadness is creasing reality

Everything falling into tears and despair,
sadness overwhelming and no release
near, sadness colouring my soul until I
am wearing the deepest purple shroud
of loneliness where nothing else

But sadness is about

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Hallway Phantom Singer

I am the hallway phantom singer, singing
‘Les souvenirs de mes jours passés, les
souvenirs me reviennent' until a passing
pedestrian glanced at me surprised - we
both laughed - serenading a fellow civil
servant in the foyer ‘Think of me, think
of me fondly' from ‘The Phantom of the
Opera' - It is good for whatever ails you

‘Quand j'étais petit garçon je repassais
mes leçons en chantant' but in the quiet
office only listening on earphones; rather
less successful than singing along - when
driving home this afternoon there shall be
time for a thousand songs: ‘Oú sont passés
les beaux jours…'

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Amplify Inner Visions

Finished reading true private eye stories searching
for missing persons, so many people romantisize the
past and early experience; we should enjoy our visions,
not try to find them manifested in real events, it is better
to fail in tracing old flames or abusive parents

Imagination enables us to improve on reality and create a
better world - the fact that the past proves their memories
of young love wrong, teaches us to look ahead to create the
best future we can, instead of trying to find idealized images
in real life – we should project these dreams

Into the future, striving to amplify our inner visions…

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