Emerald Dragon Archives

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Posted on September 20, 2011 at 2:55 AM Comments comments (0)

She sat on the grass

beneath the summer sun


looking at you

as if for the first time


 and as she looked at you

you looked beyond her


at the distant sky

and how the clouds


resembled a woman’s bust

and how humorous it was


when an airplane

went right through


on its way to some far off land

and as she took your hand

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Posted on July 15, 2011 at 5:19 AM Comments comments (0)

You are what you wear, Sutcliffe said,

You wear what you are. O’Brien laughed.

In that case, Eddie, you’re well alive,

Because you wouldn’t be seen dead


In those clothes.  Sutcliffe brushed off

The jacket, disturbing the dandruff,

Loose blonde hairs took flight about him.

They’re hand me downs, Sutcliffe moaned,


Not what I’d have chosen by a long chalk.

When money’...

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Posted on June 18, 2011 at 12:09 PM Comments comments (0)

Xavier looks down from the bridge.

John Berryman jumped from here,

He muses, noting the water, hearing

The sounds behind and below. Xavier

Looks up at the sky, sees birds, clouds.

Many reasons why some person might

Want to jump and die. Also many reasons

Not to. Xavier breathes in the air, it hits

His lungs, fresh, cool. Berryman and Henry

Were they the same? What’s in a name?

Xavier remembers reading Berryman’s...

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Posted on June 14, 2011 at 8:36 AM Comments comments (0)

Tomsin laughs to himself. Not concerning

Others or with others, but alone, a private

Joke, not shared. He looks about him, none

Seems to have heard him laugh or if they did,

Cared. He puts out his legs beneath the table,

Lights up a cigarette. The small cafe seems busy,

Voices talk, bits of conversation hang on the air

Incomplete, foreign. He sips his drink. A girl in

A group nearby looks at him and smiles. He feels

His age, aches...

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Nodmeyer remembers

Posted on June 1, 2011 at 2:37 PM Comments comments (0)

Nodmeyer remembers clearly fishing

With his father on the lake. The small

Boat, the blue box of flies and hooks.

The still water, the calm sky. Just him,

His father, the rods, and the occasional

Fish hooked and bucketed. Nodmeyer

Has no son now to fish with; he sits all

Alone in his boat, him, the sky, his rod,

And his box of hooks and flies. His son

Drowned in the lake some years back.

Suicide, some say or insinuate in hus...

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Posted on May 25, 2011 at 5:44 AM Comments comments (0)

Kentril has a job to do, has a man

To kill. He sits and selects a cigarette.

Takes his time. The French cigarette

He thinks best at this time. This his

Favourite. He lights, draws in the smoke.

The photograph of the victim he holds

Between yellowed finger and thumb.

The person’s laughing, some party scene.

Kentril rubs his thumb over the celluloid

 Face, can’t wipe off the grin, or the bright

Eyes, dim. Nothi...

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Posted on May 14, 2011 at 1:27 PM Comments comments (0)

Henry will watch girls pass

Most of the day, especially

The young ones, the blonde

Ones, the tall ones, the ones


With fine figures, the ones

Who look at him disdainfully,

The ones who smile out of pity.

He thinks he remembers their


Mothers, the same look, the

Same way of walking, the same

Disdainful gaze, the smiles of

Pity. He recalls their fathers,


Good looking guys, ta...

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Retrospective 57

Posted on May 13, 2011 at 9:15 PM Comments comments (0)

Such a little difference

The places we went

All the history I learned

The things you got to do

The things you got to see

Such a little difference

The lives we have led

All that we have become

Broken and fooled

The world thought I would win


Such a little difference

The advantages apportioned

All the history I made

The things I got to do

The things I got to see

Such a little difference


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Posted on May 7, 2011 at 3:10 AM Comments comments (0)

He hates it the week you’re on the rag

As he terms it, the big drag,

Depressing deprivation, but you hate it

For deeper reasons that he can feel,


Another month where your seed’s

Unblessed with life or babe.

You aren’t ready yet, he claims,

Running a finger down your spine,


Hoping to turn you on,

Wanting to romp out of season,

Best wait until the promotion

And the money’s ...

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Posted on April 29, 2011 at 5:28 AM Comments comments (0)

She lives with her ghosts.

Miró sits on her

Walls and walks her rooms.


She has Welsh Dylan

Thomas in her book

Case and sitting in


Her favourite old

Armchair drinking beer

From the Frigidaire.


Her father sits smoking

A cigarette, lung

Cancer no longer


A fear, there is no

Second death. Close the

Window, he says, there’s


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