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Poems by J. M. Crole

No Ordinary Laugh

Speak in tongues that confuse the minds of scholars.
A thousand miles away, a woman screams in terror.
The devil dances in fields of corn.
No ordinary laugh.
She's chained to life like a prisoner,
doubting her faith with a lack of hope.
Everyone is plastic, rubber coated hearts.
Feelings bounce from one to another.
It's no ordinary laugh, when the heart is broken.
Standing in the middle, a sponge soaking in infection.
Her disease is the woman, she pretends to be.
Loneliness isn't so bad when, you love yourself.
Trying to remove the plastic, easy to assemble.
In a world of broken hearts, the ears are listening.

J. M. Crole ~ 1999

Falling In. . .

Whispers, calling, wanting,
hearing, losing, drowning.
Dive into the shallow end. It's much more dangerous.
Birds sing songs with no words, owls sleep in the day.
They capture the night beauty of darkness.
Alarm clock rings ticking on the clock. Footsteps and foul odors. Doors slam with routine. And the snake
prepares to shed its skin. Lurking in the hollowness, all the things left behind.
Tripping over tossed suitcases, boxes fall from the sky.
Immediately the stars become my escape, my only hope.
Open to all wounds like leftovers. Angels eat dinning in the hopes that tomorrow will be even better. Hell
can't be much worse.
Not knowing, never changing.
Knowing the leaves will turn, the sun will shine, flowers will bloom.

J. M. Crole ~2000

Barely Beating

Turning back to see me standing there.
My broken heart held in my hands.
Slowly beating, blood dripping, trying to hold it together.
I ripped it right out of my chest for you.
Now there is this large gapping hole.
Trying to put it back in its place.
I'm confused.
Loving so hard to be loved in return.
Only to find dead ends.
And love fades away.

J. M. Crole ~2000

State of Chaos

Death becomes her,
sadness and guilt.
Inflamed by your dirty dress.
Last rose, last flower, last bloom.
Forgotten, in a state of chaos.
And there I am, growing again.
Red rose, rose of red.
Hear me thy blood calls to you.
One so delicate so aggressive.
‘Tis time my child time to dance again.
Hear them calling, dirt under manicured nails.
They've seen you, my little one.
You are not alone . . .

J. M. Crole ~ 1997


The moon has escaped me,
upside down and blue.
The fire has tamed me,
crazy and untrue.
The water has drowned me,
empty and without you.
The sun has blinded me,
wishes and nothing left to do.
The wind has blown me far away,
Lost alone, about to decay.
Empty waters no tears left to cry.
Trying to find my wings to fly.

J. M. Crole ~2000

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Biographical sketch: I don't choose to write it just comes out and I can't stop it. It has been coming
out for ten years now, and along the way I have won awards and I have been published. I just need to express myself and reach out to others.

J. M. Crole recommends:

Wordsworth's Verse by Selected by R.S. Thomas

Reason: Heart wrenching, soul suffering through the beauty of nature. Music to the broken

Recommendations for writers:

Don't think first, just write from your heart not your head. Use your head after.


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