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Dan Reynolds Poems
My Old School.
He couldn't go back to his old school, the bastards had knocked it down Tore away his memories
Thank God I'm an Atheist
Thank God I'm an Atheist © One fine night, in the middle of the day, two atheists knelt down to pray.
A Dragonfly Dilemma.
The dragonfly decided not to land, nor decorate his ornate garden pond. It sought some other gardener's hallowed hand across the lawn, the beck wall and beyond.
Michael....How are you?
If Michael was a mentor and a friend you'd think I should have known when he had died. A year or so has skipped by since his end. A year in which I've been pre-occupied
If Tristan was mending his girlfriend's ...
I wondered, if the hero had been overweight or baldy would women weep, perhaps lose sleep, o'er Tristan and Isolde? And then I pushed derision from my vision of the plot and asked my heart to seek the part, wherein the story got
Did You Really Find GOD In A Fortune Coo...
I cannot claim the cloak of innocence for deeds I do no more, and yet... did once. My catholic culture, quelled, still seems immense contributing to this, , , deistic dunce.
A Sonnet On The Passing Of A Friend's Ca...
How can a cat connect, yet stay adrift? How can it share a look that says so much? The 'Cat''s acceptance of 'Us' is a gift endorsed by letting carers dare to touch,
Ode To The Modern Web-Poets
Considering how poetry is seen by those who read or write within its laws, I see now that the average is mean, and hear the constant sharpening of claws.
Lost For Words
Regardless of the tongue with which we’re born, the thoughts within develop at a pace until the day when from us, they are torn, and proffered to a wasteful human race.
What Does 'Love' Look Like?
To answer, 'What does 'Love' look like? ', we need to ponder on where love itself exists. Where does this cherished treasure choose to breed? Within romantic hearts or fighter's fists?
A Fairy Tale of Sorts
There once was a flower who learned how to think evolving to harness it's best chance of life no visible brain and no definite link to show how or when it fell on its own knife.
Those who search, may not all find, Answers which just spring to mind. The fruitless waste of perspiration, In search of unearned inspiration,
<p align='center'> The glass is quickly running
Morning Has Croaken?
The light had barely broken when his flutter caught my ear. Through bleary, sleep-stained, sticky eyes upon my sill, he did appear.
Comments about Dan Reynolds
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
My Old School.
He couldn't go back
to his old school,
the bastards had knocked it down
Tore away his memories
his triggers to his past
and as an afterthought
rebuilt, renamed, and
reneged on their promise.
No more broken stained glass mosaics
no more shiny loo roll
no more lighting bunsen burners
from statically charged fingertips
no more prickly bushes
no more beatings, heading home
no more spittle-flicking
on the blazer backs in front.
No more wistful gazing
to the girls' school o'er the road
He picked out from the rubble