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I want your BMW


Drifting past me
Sleek and elegant
A fashion statement

I want your BMW
That should be my ride
If I were you
Then maybe I might have it
Cruising along the avenue

I want your BMW
And if I do drive away
That means I’m somewhere else
Not who I seem to be
Filling some absent void

I want your BMW
There is an attraction
To something I cannot have
Seems it is more than the metal
That holds your wheels in line

I want your BMW
I want it to be mine

Thom Amundsen



Most grass-roots are driving us into the blue

With no maps, no compass or even a clue

They prevent us to distinguish differences in hue

And advocate no common principles but bestrew

All over the scene to make it impossible to construe

Only chaos, melancholy, and insecurity that ensue


Some of them adopted philistinism to spoil the view

And deify who is rogue and enemy of virtue

Others resorted to worship memories and an old statue

All sycophants are busy seeking personal issue

While sagacious people are wandering in their own avenue

So, who will come to our rescue?  Patriots will do.


© Chaouki M’kaddem

April 9th, 2012


Street View


I show him how easy it is
to become a lens, a cyber-visitor
swooping up Overdale Avenue
like a steady bird or a boy on a bike.

We pass the row where an incendiary
fell, blew glass across the front room,
but his door isn’t there, replaced by flats
before I was born.

Here’s a plane tree, lower branches
out of reach, and somewhere on the bark
a set of initials carved with a penknife
in summer of forty-three.

Roy Marshall

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