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Remembering You

Remembering You

A ghostly flower blooming and withering,
(or blot) blinking with colors that strain to brightness,
to equal those of what were seen before;
fragments, with the music or plain utterances
attempting to be as loud (or as soft)
as what they really were...

But all in vain.

Blurred and ephemeral. Just for a haunting and fleeting...
Many times an unexpected visitor,
an intruder, inside...

What is complete and constant is that depressing spirit:

Void of form and details, yet lingering, encumbering,
dragging. Punctuated, highlighted,
by the thief that intermittently
gives, curses, and leaves

with a piece.

Internment Camp

Internment Camp

I know she can see, and hear
And speak.
I watch her watching
And she
Breaks my hear with those
Silent, glistening tears.
In age
And frailty, her love has
Become nothing more
Than powerless pity.

I saw them shock her once.
When her heart failed.
They bruised her sternum
And brought back colour
To that translucent skin.
They thought
Her tears were gratitude..

We know darling don't we?
We know
You and I.
I will not let them
Do it again.

Graham Whittaker

Graham Whittaker is a retired journalist who now spends his time ghostwriting, and taking on advertising projects. He has written many books of poetry over a 45 year career. Spending much of his time writing novels, and op-ed pieces, he also teaches creative writing with is writing partner of over 25 years Dora Bona. Born in UK in 1948, Graham became a journalist with the local paper in his home town of Withernsea in Yorkshire at the tender age of 14, writing the 'hatch, match, and dispatch" columns. Emigrated to New Zealand and worked with the Auckland Star, and the New Zealand Truth. He is always available to offer help and a shoulder to lean on for new and upcoming writers.
Link to Graham's work:


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