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https://www.booksie.com/667242-narcissistic-injuries-my-favourite-sport

"Tia" Every day when I wake, there's always this one girl I wanna see/ When I log back into Facebook, she's who I look for on my feed Just like me she is a poet, one who is really good at what she does/ And the other day she wrote me a poem, so here I am showing love I know I'm lucky to have met her, and to have her as a friend/ Cause what we share can't be compared, and I know it'll never end From the poetry which she pens, to the endless convo's that we have/ Her words have the 'power' to mend, and put an end to what was sad The kind of woman if you were to marry, you'd be one happy man/ But I'm just happy that she told me, she's my number one fan Of all the lands I have travelled, whether in life or in my mind/ Never once did I ever imagine, a friendship like this I would find So with every line that I write for her, I just want her to know/ How much love I hold inside, for both this woman and her flow. Copyright 2015 The Elusive Mr Dunne (All rights reserved)

https://www.inkitt.com/stories/horror/848445

"Stay Down"Dear God, it's been a while, I don't know what to say/I need to open up my heart, but if I do, they'll lock me awayBut how can they lock me away, for spitting the misery I feel in my heart/When the ones that made me betrayed me, when I was just a baby in the darkFiending for a father figure, and crying for his mother/Wishing they'd love him, but they wished they had anotherSo it hurts me to say this, I've been a cursed seed since day one/I guess I weren't a product of love, I was just what come after a night of funWith nowhere for me to run to lord, no place for me to hide/I'm coming to you asking for help, in the hope I can confideAll of my tears, all of my fears, and all the years that I'm facing/All the tears and years I wasted, now it's prison or probationGot me pacing, constantly hating, on the system that we live in/Cause it's hard playing these cards, when their the wrong cards that they givingBut still I'm never giving up, because I know there's better ways/Still I stay two fingers up, until I see them better days.Copyright 2011 The Elusive Mr Dunne (All rights reserved) https://allpoetry.com/poem/16288102-Stay-Down-by-Mr-dunne-poetry

My book Poetry & Rap Banned At Crown Court (2009-2014) https://www.booksie.com/665579-poetry-rap-banned-at-crown-court-2009-2014

My book Ars Goetia Poetry (Demonology) https://www.booksie.com/665541-ars-goetia-poetry-demonology

My book Poetic Crime (Serial Killers & True Crime) https://www.booksie.com/665544-poetic-crime-serial-killers-and-true-crime

Here are two poems made with a form that is completely new to me. At the bottom of the post is a link that explains the form. Summer flowers Roses, vincas, hostas, bushes Some are flowers —————————————————————————————————————————— Stifled by heat Roses drip with afternoon rain Body feels beat http://www.rainbowcommunications.org/wordplay/forms/Trilinca.pdf

A Writer’s Dilemma Here I sit with pen and pad...my hand is willing to write. Thoughts course through my mind, yet pass before clouded sight. I can write about kittens, puppies, or birds; possibilities flow endlessly. My mind searches for memories, that are special only to me. I see day old kittens in a rag-lined box; eyes closed tight while they feel, Along the belly of a Calico mother, for promise of a nourishing meal. I see puppies that jump and bounce; I stand in their midst to admire, Soft fur, shiny eyes, and wagging tails that never seem to tire. Birds flying like rolling waves, chased by a zephyr o'er the sea, They rise and fall in rhythmic flight, performing just for me. Visions come and visions go, many to my face bring a smile. On these thoughts I linger, satisfied to daydream a while. My hand rests, my pen is still; words have not been written. How will I start a poem I muse? It seems my brain is smitten. Thoughts of colorful flowers, and stars that twinkle at night; Of old autos with wood-spoked wheels, still my pen won't write. I behold horses in a sunlit pasture; a quaint farm among rolling hills. An oak tree with wide spread limbs, I am overwhelmed with thrills. A high-back rocker; a fireplace; a rippling stream in a wooded glen; A sailboat leans before a determined gale, I want to write, but when? Gradually these images fade, an hour passed by this time. I look at my pad, ithe paper is blank, nothing is written in rhyme. Oh, there will be other times, I’ll sit to write, I suppose... Or give way to visions of tall buildings, purple mountains, or a rose. A Final Farewell Dear Writers...today will be my last, I bid you all adieu. It’s difficult to leave, but I have other urgencies too. Poetry is rewarding, if you dare to share your mind. Writers are good listeners, they’re usually very kind. There is much I’d like to say, so much for me to write. So many more thoughts, I would like to bring to light. I’ve written epic stories; limericks, and poems that rhyme Also bits of foolishness...still I’ve set my departure time. This is my last offering, I’m certain you’ll understand. I'm now sitting at my computer, a keyboard 'neath my hand. I've typed these few lines, then suddenly...there is no more... If only...??? YarnSpinner robert.g.jerore@facebook.com