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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 12-June 15:24:39 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 159930
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Father
[time] => 2010-05-18 02:55:29
[hometext] => This is about my father, a very eccentric Irishman who spent most of his life in London. Dead now the last eighteen years, these are memories that come to mind often.
[bodytext] => My father left the pub at one minute to eleven every night. His watch, once inspected, dangled pompously on it's silver chain. Camel coat buttoned to his throat, it's collar stiff with nicotine and stale beer, He stepped out on to the bustling Fulham road, Past roaring traffic and shouting drunks he made his way along the shifty back streets, Diamond lined with frost and stiff brown leafs, his breath a sibilant whisper on the night air. And even now as I sit by the fires warm embrace I can hear his lilting irish voice in conversation with someone who never answered back. And though the years still try to obliterate, This memory is still as sharp as the frost that lined those faraway London streets, The pavenments still fresh with his footprints, The air stuborn with winter And his face red from the old and a whiskey too many. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 131 [topic] => 23 [informant] => cashfan1 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => FamilyPoems )
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