poetry critical

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Back From The Hospital

Harold sighed as he stood swaying
in the sunlit door way
of his second home,
re familiarising himself
with the small talk
of a regular’s small wife.
Did he ever before appreciate
air that was leased among cigarette smoke
and sour breath, feeling sunshine come to life
on his left hand, attached to the arm
that propped him lopsided against the door?
Had anything smelled so sweet as that day?
He surveyed creeping shadows yet felt cheered,
watching wind mess with the top of his beer.

16 May 09

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this is a little prose story here for us to read in case we get bored with poetry?
 — trashpoodle

here is a little poodle strutting the stage of inadequacy and after all if we were not all inadequate this site might like life itself disappear into its own inadequate smoke. I do so like a little puff of vapour, don't you trashpoodle?....question mark deleted.

Larry deleted Lark
 — larrylark

I like this prosey poem.

one thing, this guy, who just came from the hospital, for i think, lung or liver problems, just never learn, cause he seems not only back to his house, but to the bad habits as well.

just my thoughts.
 — majan

Exactly majan

He was told to change his diet but kept on eating out of the fish and chip shop every day and told to stop behaving like a miserable old git and cut down on the alcoholic beverages all of which he ignored but i guess that when you reach the age of 25 old habits die hard and i doubt if he'll see 30 though he does smoke 30 a day

Larry idiot head Lark
 — larrylark


love the message.
 — listen

Hi listen

thanks for taking the time. I am snowed under at the moment but will be in touch within the week

Larry Arnold Lane Lark
 — larrylark