Unquiet Desperation
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Author Topic: Poem from Issue 20. Flat Cola Bottles by Sean O'Callaghan.  (Read 4881 times)
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Posts: 279

« on: January 29, 2008, 11:34:06 AM »

Anybody that's grown up in Britain or Ireland and didn't go to the type of school where each pupil has a pony will know this. Excellent stuff, took me bag to playing in the mud with the arse hanging out of my shorts. Hate to sound like some old fart but when you look at kids now you see how little we actually had. A bag of Golden Wonder and a quick blast on a fruit machine was riches beyond the dreams of avarice.

And now...?

And Terry Griffiths? Really?


Carter 4 Maxxie Oliver
Ernest Hemingway
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Posts: 112

« Reply #1 on: January 29, 2008, 10:50:49 PM »

We may disagree on other things, but you're right about this one.

This poem takes other poems into the car park and kicks thei crap out of 'em in front of everyone. Then it goes to their houses and bangs their wives. Unless they're female poems. In which case... ah, you get the picture.

Been there in that bingo hall... loads of old ladies booing the Maggie's Den call.

Let's see more from this guy.


Under neon loneliness, motorcycle emptiness.
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