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Sender D MacLean

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Member Since: Aug, 2010

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Featured Book
Wound Too Tight
by TJ Perkins

A pirate's treasure, a fateful curse and an enchanted pocket watch could be the end of 6 boys in Maine if a coded inscription on the inside of the watch isn't figured out..  
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Curl My Toes
by Sender D MacLean
Not rated by the Author.
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Recent poems by Sender D MacLean
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           >> View all 5

 Strap me to your bed,

Find me won’t you,
At the end of the bar,
Dialed into my fourth scotch,
Sobriety not an outfit I wear well,
I don’t know well where you are,
Push my arms down,
Tie me up to,
That place in your mind,
You have never revealed to anyone else but me,
Of course this must be true ,
Bond me,
In your verbal nakedness,
And tickle my mind alive,
Make me giggle at your substandard missives,
For I no longer agree with the notion,
That this love is fiction,
Reveal yourself to me,
Like a lover the first time,
Can you remember the first time?
I want it like that,
Soft and gentle,
Unsure and curious,
Your dangling participles drowning out my distress,
For with this staged love session, a lifetime I require,
With every minute consonants drip from your mouth,
I am smitten with your inelegant prose,
“Roses are Red…”
A type of ugly realization that is anything but ugly,
Your comma splices like passions writing on the wall,
Tie me down,
Bring me to a place where your diction curls my toes,
Oh how do I want you to make my toes curl?
For that surely is love,
That brutal contradiction,
Where the most painful is the must sublime,
The unsure is the most knowing,
Please let us eat cookies in bed,
The crumbs becoming the beautiful poetry we are in motion,
Falling to the floor,
Like a helium balloon bleeding hot air,
Fill my lungs with your moist parenthetical wisdom,
Bring me back to life,
For surely I am not here anymore,
Not until I find the strength of your conclusions,
That really are nothing but endings dressed as beginnings,
Vice versa,
Vice versa squared,
With a smile built upon the fortress of your messy thesis,
Find me and tie me down won’t you,
Strap me,
Belt me in the face with a stained classified ad,
The one that reads me to a T,
And yet,
As if two syllables crashing together,
That ad will be my beacon,
Though you will never write it,
And I will never read it,
Guide me to the port of the perfect sentence,
And I will kiss your mouth,
As never you have been kissed before,
Bound together,
By sloppy English,
And then I will know,
Red Pen Need Not Apply!
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For the Love Of A Woman by Paddy Bostock

Family ó you canít live with them; you canít live without them...  
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