<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
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Unlucky numbers<\/strong><\/p>\n On the first day of X-mas a kid-gang brought to me On the second day the sun played hide-and-seek. On the third day I unwrapped On the fourth day of X-mas they carried me down to the park. On the fifth day I sawed off several fingers The next day I tried to mop up the blood On the seventh day I had a bloody good time By the eighth, I\u2019d cooked my landlord\u2019s goose Day 9: needed a new leaf A night on a park bench. I fish the moon out of the lake On the eleventh day, I wonder if anyone cares enough Our revels now are ending. I\u2019m standing on a stepladder <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Chris Fewings<\/strong> lives in Birmingham and writes poems, stories, rants and reflections. Other poems on Ink, Sweat & Tears<\/em>, The Earth, The Sea and the Human Spirit<\/em> and Wayless<\/em> .<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n thattimeofyear<\/strong><\/p>\n packaging and shipping costs I CANT BREATHE<\/p>\n track your delivery using our I’M BURIED ALIVE<\/p>\n by using the reference number listed below SOMEBODY HELP ME UP<\/p>\n your package will be delivered I’M SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS<\/p>\n we hope you enjoy your order I DON’T WANT TO DIE ALONE<\/p>\n we hope to see you again soon <\/p>\n Stuart Murphy<\/strong> has been writing poems for two years without any formal training or planning. He has had poems published in thecadeverine.com<\/em> and in messageinabottlepoetrymagazine.com.<\/em> Unlucky numbers On the first day of X-mas a kid-gang brought to me a mirror printed with the reflection of supermarket special offers, half-price happiness. I scrubbed at that mirror till my arm ached. On the second day the sun played hide-and-seek. I tried to lasso its light with a frisbee, almost […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[37],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-7925","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-twelve-days-of-christmas-2014"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7925","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7925"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7925\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":23964,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7925\/revisions\/23964"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7925"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7925"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7925"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\na mirror printed with the reflection
\nof supermarket special offers, half-price happiness.
\nI scrubbed at that mirror till my arm ached.<\/p>\n
\nI tried to lasso its light with a frisbee,
\nalmost strangled it. It was at its weakest.<\/p>\n
\nthe morning slowly, peeled the curtains
\nfrom stupor\u2019s surface, stuffed them into a recycling bin
\nset to overflowing; smouldered.<\/p>\n
\n\u2018You need some fresh air!\u2019 They pranked me
\nonto a makeshift raft on the lake
\nand watched from the bench
\nas I grabbed at the ducks\u2019 bread
\nand they ate turkey sandwiches .<\/p>\n
\nwith a breadknife to spite my left hand
\nand melted down the remnants of five relationships.<\/p>\n
\nwith a crust of bread, but it had already congealed
\non my workbench. Photographs. Fingerprints. Bad dreams.<\/p>\n
\non the proceeds of the rings.<\/p>\n
\nin the fat he\u2019d creamed off the land, served
\nmy notice.<\/p>\n
\nto turn, ordered a half-price calendar
\nto skip, watched it fall flat on its face.
\nYears as young as this just pick themselves up.<\/p>\n
\nand share it with the early joggers.<\/p>\n
\nto burn me in effigy. I light a candle in the shape of an angel
\nwhich arrived in the post from my uncle, misaddressed,
\nafter a year\u2019s detour through the badlands round Bethlehem.
\nI think I attended his funeral in August.<\/p>\n
\nwith a megaphone, surrounded by my cheering neighbours,
\nhanding out 12 bottles of bubbly confiscated by AA
\nand sold at Oxfam for a song. I sing it again
\nas the corks pop \u2013 someone records it,
\nposts it into thin air. Has it arrived yet? Check the air.
\nCheck your dreams. Check that mirror.<\/p>\n
\nhave been included in your order<\/p>\n
\nonline system<\/p>\n
\nand your email address and password<\/p>\n
\nin a plain brown envelope<\/p>\n
\nplease leave feedback on our website<\/p>\n
\nlearn more about your statutory rights at our help section<\/p>\n
\nHe lives in Scotland currently.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"