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Two Poems by Bernard Pearson

Serendipity Like pressed  meadow flowers Dry upon the foxed Paper  in m’lady’s  book Some lives will always be Set by others for beauty Of a kind. But yours was storm Water Careering you towards another ice cold Sudden, descending Cataract  ever carrying  you along In the old song of life To which you  never Quite learnt the words. Bogart Cigarette lolling From pastrami coloured, Whiskied, wafer thin  Snarl frozen lips. Your hard shoulder, Made for girls With other worlds In their eyes to cry upon. That thing you did with your  hat, As if it were trying you on for size. The twang of the hunted In your voice left hanging In the  haunted air Silenced by the light of day And the way you spat  bad men casually, from the sidecar of your mouth and  left them bullet rich, to foul the sidewalk.                                                                                     ___ Bernard Pearson 's work has appeared in many publications, including: Aesthetica Magazine, The Edinburgh R

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