Beachcombing

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem based on a dream i had once, and a stream of consciousness i decided to write down a couple of days back.
In the dream, my sitting room floor was covered in sand and i was crawling around, moving my hand through the top surface, apparently looking for something.

It begins as a lighthearted jovially metred rhyme...

Submitted: July 19, 2008

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Submitted: July 19, 2008

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A fanciful living he made, selling buckles and bobbins and bones
that he scraped from the floor, the sitting room floor on his own.

Chairs watched over him while he worked, the sofa stood guard at the door
While he shifted the sand, the delicate sand on the floor.

Beachcomber, you sickly man! get out my head and leave my house.
Your horrid Stench! That bilious nose! 
The way in which you bite your toes and scatter the nails about my bed
That pierce me when i sleep and dream!

I cannot!

For your squalid presence plagues me
The melodies you hum,
Like a mountain ripe with bees and megaphones
On the day that I deny you,
For yes! That day will come!
You will know as always I have known

Thatyou are that part of me
Which is unpleasant to the eye
Which is hateful to the ear
Which cannot be touched
Cannot be smelled
And in tasting has the bitter tang of spite

Jealousy old companion
I would rip you from my heart!
 Breaking ribs, flesh and skin
As would any knowing of your bite, stunted twin
stunted,malformed aching twin of love.


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