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Thoughts of a Pyromaniac

Despite the destruction the flames still leap

Nothing more to burn, no more lives to reap.

The tears that course down reddened cheeks

Will, no doubt, flow for countless weeks.

 

The beauty is missed by all who stare

The splendour of the orangey flare.

The crackle and spit as the wood ignites

The sparks flying up to dizzying heights.

 

My mind it leaps with each bright flash

It sings with joy at the fall of ash.

How can they watch and yet not perceive           

The euphoric dance of flames that weave?

 

My eyes do sting and my heart does pound

The roar in my ears the only sound

As all around is swiftly drenched

My exquisite friend is slowly quenched.

 

Until next time my lovely one

I promise that the time will come.

You will, once more, soar to the sky

And listen to the children cry.

 

And this for a different competition – Theme, Fire

 

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First Time

The evening was over, the moment had come
Every meeting before leading to this one.
He paid the waiter and stood to go,
She smiled shyly, keeping her eyes low.
Once in the taxi, his hand on her knee,
The love in her eyes was so clear to see.
Arriving at his place, the choice had been made.
Act one and two over, the last to be played.
His hand on her neck, lips light as a feather
Two hearts become one as they join together

I wrote this for a competition – the guidelines were “Must contain the word feather and be 10 lines exactly”

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A Surreal Moment at the Pub!

A night out on Thursday contained a rather surreal moment when a friend offered Neil and I a drink. When the can of Strongbow appeared on the bar accompanied by a glass full of ice, Neil promptly tipped the ice into a dirty glass also on the bar. Ian (the friend) looked a little perplexed but I realised what was in Neil’s head! As I reached over to attract the bar-lady’s attention I managed to knock over the glass of red wine that had just been put down in front of me!  Poor Ian is now looking at his ice-free glass which is paddling in a puddle of red wine.
Neil feels the need to explain at this point whilst I look on sheepishly and the bar-lady mops up the mess and replenishes Ian’s glass with ice and mine with more red wine! (Which I probably shouldn’t have had anyway!)
The whole scenario lasted around 45 seconds and was all because Neil assumed (wrongly!) that the Strongbow was for me and I don’t like ice with mine!

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HANG OVER!

Waking up, feeling gruff,

Wondering why I feel so rough!

It couldn’t be the cider surely?

I only drank one pint hourly!

Admittedly it was hours aplenty

But I know it wasn’t near to twenty!

Maybe all booze should have a warning

“Too much of me equals dreadful morning!”

I think it’s time to take a vow

No more cider for me – (for now!)