Emerald Dragon Archives

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Posted on March 27, 2011 at 3:23 AM Comments comments (2)

And Isis kisses

The breasts of Jodie


Each kiss like planting

A small blossom on


A still small pond and

Jodie strokes her hair


And runs her finger

Down Isis’s back


And outside two cats

Fight and a railway


Train sounds and the bed

Rocks as their hot love


Making takes off and

The shadows on the


Walls see...

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Posted on March 24, 2011 at 7:42 AM Comments comments (0)

It was the kiss of kisses. If Rodin

Had been around he could have made it a

New work of art for a world to see. Her


Lips were moist and warm; he felt them press soft

Against his own; heard the moan; sensed her breasts

Nudge. This was nothing like what his father


Had once said of kissing, something different,

Nothing missing. He sensed her fingers touch

His neck; they slid slowly down, then up. He


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Posted on February 25, 2011 at 4:39 AM Comments comments (0)

Martha remembers the Ebony

Crucified given to her by a former


Boyfriend to encourage her to let

Him fuck but she never did but kept


The Christ tucked in her handbag with

Purse of coins and handkerchief and


Tampons and candy bars and a pack of

Cigarettes and plastic lighter she liberated


From some store in Tipperary and as the

Boyfriend lay on her bed trying to get his


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Posted on January 19, 2011 at 8:18 PM Comments comments (1)

I sit and watch the rain pour down

and marvel at it’s constant sound,

it causes my mind to relax

and ups my consequence to the max.


Though it pours so constantly

it never seems to bother me,

because i know it’s nurturing

not just my mind but everything.


The sound of thunder and a lighting strike

are strangely things i seem to like,

they feel as family as the rain

even though different as jo...

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Posted on January 18, 2011 at 6:45 AM Comments comments (1)

Come in Miss Broston and sit down or lie

On the couch over there if you wish I

Don’t mind whichever is best for you and


You wander into Doctor Freudbank's room

With its blue walls and framed certificates

And bourgeois paintings and sit in the black


Chair opposite his desk that reminds you

Of the big desk in your father’s study

Where he used to sit most days and if you’d


Been a bad gi...

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Posted on January 17, 2011 at 4:55 AM Comments comments (1)

You know those tickles way down inside?

The ones which anticipate time?

I have those tickles today.

Thoughts of "beginnings" play.

They don't come often.

But when they do...

writing spews...

from me


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Phantom Spirit

Posted on January 13, 2011 at 4:38 AM Comments comments (3)
There you are
I see you now
a misty kind of swirl...
A magic movement
in the air
always get's this girl.
Reaching out
to touch you now
I feel you on my skin...
Chills cover
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Troubled Numb

Posted on January 13, 2011 at 4:28 AM Comments comments (2)
I'm stopping
not going
not breathing
too hard.
I hear
your words
with eyes
on a card...
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Posted on January 7, 2011 at 3:53 AM Comments comments (0)

You oughtn’t to use bad language, Anny

Says, appearing out of nowhere, a small


Bow tied in her long blonde hair, Momie said

It wasn’t good. You say, I never use bad


Language when I write poems about you.

She comes closer to the PC and stares


At the screen. Is this poem about me?

Most of it, you say, gazing at her small


Ghostly hand on the arm of the swivel

Chair. Her f...

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Posted on January 3, 2011 at 4:36 AM Comments comments (0)

Hold that pose, he said, and she did and she

Was most surprised that he allowed her to

Keep her clothes on and not have to pose in

Some seductive or pornographic way


Or fashion as he often termed it, which

Reminded her of Mother’s words before

She had left home years ago, always keep

Your dignity Wally never let men


Take advantage of you because you’re a

Woman, but she had let that gem of word...

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