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Window



Last Updated: 11/19/2009

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Saturday, January 05, 2008 12:41 AM
While aeroplanes plough the sky
and the sun brushes out their tracks,
we trudge beneath the calls of birds
like wooden soldiers,
our painted coats shining,
our laced-up feet slamming hard
on gum splattered slabs
and puddled roads.

This is not the morning
but the flimsy jigsaw of just awake.

That was not the night
but what was left of yesterday

caught on our tongues like snowflakes.

© Jenny Adamthwaite
Previous Post: Morning After | Back to Blog List | Next Post: Chain
Benedict
Benedict St.Quentin Fitzpatrick

 
wonderful write
 
Posted by Benedict on Saturday, January 05, 2008 - 6:48 AM
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Window

 
Thank you.
 
Posted by Window on Saturday, January 05, 2008 - 9:19 AM
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Rosemary Nissen-Wade

 
A scene so foreign to me - literally! - but you make me see and feel it. It's MY feet slamming hard. And then that beautiful, gentle last line. Gorgeous!
 
Posted by Rosemary Nissen-Wade on Monday, March 24, 2008 - 9:41 PM
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Window

 
Thank you - for this and all the kind comments we've found from you today. It has been a bit like opening a Christmas stocking reading them all!
 
Posted by Window on Tuesday, March 25, 2008 - 6:05 PM
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Graeme Perrin
Graeme Perrin

 
Hello... just dropped by and read this. your words are solid pieces of something to hold... as if you carved pictures and feelings out of them. Everything fits together in a balance like life. I think you're onto something here... please keep going, G.

 
Posted by Graeme Perrin on Thursday, February 12, 2009 - 5:55 PM
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Window

 
Gosh! Thank you! Don't worry, I will... and at some point I'll even update the myspace! Thanks for reading.

 
Posted by Window on Thursday, February 12, 2009 - 8:43 PM
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Previous Post: Morning After | Back to Blog List | Next Post: Chain