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Paul Knight-Kirby Avatar  Send Soup Mail  Block poet from commenting on your poetry

Below is the poem entitled Skunk which was written by poet Paul Knight-Kirby. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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Skunk your sweet succulent love 
leaves me stuck, and I won't give 
you up, stuck like the buds, in a 
dusted web covered by mother 
natures brush, your welcoming 
friendship is never enough, rival of 
the frown, god's recipe when down, 
your effect places me harmoniously 
around, all negative feeling or 
emotion all gone just a swirling 
shroud,with the fumes of holy 
potion,  iam immune to life's  
commotion, inhaling the Earths soul 
sucked in deeply, every crumb, bud, 
spliff and bowl, Such mythical 
smoke, such cultures and minds you 
do provoke, escape to a higher and 
divine landscape of reasonable 
reality where peace of mind is 
dripping vapour nestled on even 
paper and quarrel depart before 
temptation, look, comment, remark. 
When simplicity takes transitory 
analogy, too much for enquiry, a 
calming hospitality a fuzzy woollen 
cuddling embrace, the missing part 
of the puzzle, its consortium of time 
and place, the nectar for hardships, 
for mans undertakings, mans 
subservient fate, a medicine to the 
crippled, down trodden, rejected 
and out of place, all its might and 
potential has such a self-evident 
place within our capacity, among'st 
the human race, the government 
won't allow us to rejoice in this 
demand telling us its wrong, its 
hurts and its sad, if your feeling a 
little rough take this manufactured 
chemical instead it kills more people 
in a day than skunk ever did, and 
our logic falls softly upon deaf ears, 
upon a army of people unblinded 
by the sewage of fears they replace 
from cheers but its hard living 
empty and living a tour everything 
soulless beyond a bore, just dribble 
my way through life, like a gormless 
zombie, alone, cold and frumpy, an 
imbedded splinter mossed over like 
a snow capped fallen branch, 
diseased and clumpy, aged and 
arched, thanks for your pointless 
servitude the death judge said, 
looking at the life judge, exclaiming 

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  1. Date: 11/6/2012 8:33:00 AM
    A great write and very enjoyable read Paul. Love, Carol