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When Gone

When Gone

 

We are

 

Collected sayings

Time smoothed items

 

Mournful hearts

Unsmoothed soil

 

A lingering roar

And plucked strings in family blood

 

When gone.

 

By J.W.H. Hobbs.

 
 
 

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Up in the Morning

Up, hear the odd calls It may be a burble, or the scatter of animal chatter Press your fingers into tools or bricks forming words While grey, then black, then still skies spool ahead.   By J.W.H. Hobb

 
 
 
Return to Read

I found this week how interesting it was seeing another person’s approach to an academic paper. There’s guideline suggestions, a CASP paper at the ready, and the normal read is surveying the terrain.

 
 
 
Back of the Throat

Mucal membranes block the throat We lose our air and start to choke With regularity, in dark times Full function is hard to find   It will pass, or it will not Each wound, bound and unsleeved thought

 
 
 

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@j.w.h.hobbs

All original poetry intellectual property of J.W.H. Hobbs. Photographs taken by J.W.H. Hobbs.

Consistency. Effort.
Passion.

Business Email: j.w.h.hobbs22@gmail.com 

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