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Found 7 results

  1. MrDunnePoetry

    Happy Home

    "Happy Home" I was surrounded by people who didn't respect me, so I upped and I left/ And began to focus on self improvement, to try regain my self respect I'd neglected what were my own needs, losing the essence of who I was/ I had become needy and self loathing, cause I was lonely and I was lost I had to look past all the hate that I felt, & the hurt held in my heart/ For me to ever see a brighter day, I had to step away from the dark And walk down a path I was unsure of, knowing I had to walk it alone/ Yet I'm so proud that I did, cause now I get to walk into a happy home Looking back on my unhappy home, I know in my heart I have come far/ The endless poems, the nights alone, drunk & stoned with a broken heart It used to start and never stop, but now I stop it whenever it starts/ And takes it's toll, I take control, saving my soul before it's torn in half I can now laugh & I can smile, knowing it didn't kill me, it made me strong/ Though painful like losing my child, the pain that I felt was never as long For way too long, I dwelled on the wrongs, now I belong & I have a purpose/ So no longer do I feel like I'm nobody, pathetically empty & feeling worthless. Copyright 2014 The Elusive Mr Dunne (All rights reserved)
  2. eclipse


    Shunned, unable to pick any of heaven's locks, an angel tricked by camouflage and a devil tampering with earthly clocks has his wings stripped by the devil's winds. Human history is mined by the angel on his journey to earth for a devils messages and propaganda against a virgin birth. Drinking infected water in a derelict church he examines human thirst - he is holy the water is not. Believing he is human the angel sees that their visions are nursed and condemned to rot by a disinterested God. Every clock on Earth struck at once their hands altered by a devil's guidance. The angel was overwhelmed by the clock's deafening chimes and consumed by visions of mankind's crimes. He was saved by the quiet symphony of a bird and his mate trying to translate a message from the heavens. To furnish and power his barren broken wings the angel would gather in a single feather from every species of bird on earth.
  3. eclipse


    Outside a church a girl with permanent mine deep scratches on her face silently sells me matches-I light a match and through the round church window I see a crucifix propping Gods eye open- the earth his spinning eye-the cross and eye bridging time-humanity's leap into a new religious paradigm; cross and earth meet, man's divine awareness is complete.That night I light two matches beneath a full moon and place my hand beneath the flames and see God the hooded falcon and Jesus his falcon-they cannot see the fire in the eyes of each other. Dreams were my bird of prey as i slept- I was drawn to a wilderness where Christ wept nails and howled beneath a full moon. The wind caressed my wings and his hair- he looked into my eyes and intoned a prayer and rain-stones came down onto the plains and bounced off my bedroom window pane waking me-in the mirror I could still see the figure of Christ preserved within my eyes. I watched the TV and Jesus witnessed history in documentaries. Jesus returned in a dream, watched the earth in two streams and altered its history- ended poverty and war, then drank from the waters. After waking, this was replayed in my eyes- Jesus they would vaguely recognize and in return he didn't accept his reflection in the waters of the streams.
  4. eclipse


    An autistic boy drowned and the sea dreamed him back into being. The boy used the moon as a drum and the rhythms of the water. Four fireflies arrived they brought projections of Gandhi, Buddha, Napoleon and Genghis Khan. The fireflies flew in a circular cadence Buddha and Gandhi stepped into the middle leaving Napoleon and Khan to witness the advance of their wars and bloodshed replayed. The two sages clothed a dead tree with the skin of war casualties, a raven with eyes of red and a robin with eyes of black led the watch over the fruit that grew. The autistic boy waited for the fruit to fall, the two birds heard a call and left. A bearded carpenter helped the boy lift the fruit into a basket-from the tree he built a boat. At sea the carpenter cut two apples into segments and ate-he dreamed about fragments that formed the moon and earth and as if giving birth he sweated and screamed-three inquisitive seagulls hovered. After reaching dry land the carpenter constructed a stage from the boat and acted in a play with tyrants from every age. They were directed by an unseen author turning the pages of a distant script-the autocrats became the audience and watched the carpenter perform with saints and mystics- dictators received revelation and wrote pages of a script-. the bearded man became a spectator as saints and dictators performed together.
  5. eclipse

    Moons crossing

    He halted the hunt- a lollipop man calling himself shaman Stan. He wouldn't stop the traffic to let my tormentors cross. I was woken from sleep by Stan's chimerical self he stopped zebras and lions with manes of fire while moons crossed the crossing of black and white. Zebras acquired fire and lions attained stripes. At school diurnal bullies could not see through my camouflage of moons crossing.
  6. eclipse

    The rusting plough

    I wash my hands and stir the fire after removing the rust from an old plough. I linger on the flames- the fingers of the fire remove my memory of rust. I recall the names of old labourers who have now returned to dust. With a a book of poetry and mulberry wine, I water and plough the fields of my mind and I find the line-free face of my young wife- I see her cutting home made bread with an old family knife, her pure hands untainted by time; she starts singing with tenderness, with a voice as refined as the silk of her dress. My angry words fly past- sparks from the fire- death's plowman's relentless desire will grind this rusting plowman into his earth..
  7. eclipse

    The frog and Michelangelo

    As a frog I cannot paint or draw but here below the water I hear the faint echo of Michelangelo's song. How long left for my kind?-can man not use art to find perspective?. I feel the rush from the artistry of natures brush and despair at the constant crush from the machines of man. I have seen the ghosts walking across the waters here whispering names into the ghostly flames of candles they pass the spirits of the hunted- each with a claim -a right to life. Michelangelo's spectre visited me and told of how he walks across the Sistine chapel roof letting his tears fall through to the eyes of the faces on the ceiling, he comes here to gather fruit that falls from the phantom trees.
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