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July 27, 2014 | by  | in Features |
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Sunday Caesuras

Blank verse

Through howling winds the ships did sail on mast
with tight-fisted crewmen agape with fear.
Tonight you are mine when the windows close
I will hold your hand and stay til morn.
Bright eyes laced with silver-smiles tight and white,
I’m not so sure they loved him as I did.
Black-coffee eyes and cigarette-stained teeth,
holding close vapour kisses and trying to be.
Whatsmore the dandelion did brush her skin,
Fabric swathed in Persian colours, pink and blue.

Rhyming verse

Sweet mist ran from the utmost mountain peak
as light winds aired and trees they did speak.

As I sat by the azure-sodden lake
I thought of the island, my heart’s to take.

He stared blankly, slack-jawed and obligingly
at women through glass panes he faced, admiring.

Cold, hard skin weary with ageing work
pressed against the firm collar of his shirt.

Tears fell like blood-stains on freshly washed cotton
on a face so earnest, but nearly forgotten.

Nicola is a History student who spends her days battling with terminal Anglophilia and mismatching adjectives in the vain hope of becoming literary.

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