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	<title>The Beat &#187; Poetry</title>
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	<link>http://the-beat.co.uk</link>
	<description>A poetry, short story and art showcase.</description>
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		<title>Haiku</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/haiku-2/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/haiku-2/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 17 Aug 2011 10:06:06 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Sarah Gamutan</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://the-beat.co.uk/?p=1149</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Oak trees in autumn-
always dreamt by the people
in brown- skinned tropic.
]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Century of Sundays</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/century-of-sundays/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/century-of-sundays/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 17 Aug 2011 10:02:13 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Robert Warrington</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Blog]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Featured]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://the-beat.co.uk/century-of-sundays/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Since I saw you last
the trade routes have all changed.
Rivers have changed course.
Silt has covered the sunken boat.
Empires have been built and fallen.
Rain has stopped falling on the desert citadel.
 
Since you hopped off the bus
like a cat with a shoulder bag,
generations of pilgrims have worn a groove
in the steps of the shrine
and generations of their [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>I Like A Girl</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/i-like-a-girl/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/i-like-a-girl/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 24 Feb 2011 08:19:12 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Glen Still</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://the-beat.co.uk/?p=1124</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I like a girl with a mind hard as steel
A woman that don&#8217;t take no shit
A female without an ego
A real kitten in bed
 
I like a woman that writes poems
A babe that can shake that ass
Out on the dance floor
Wind her way through all the boys
Find her way back to me
With no problem
 
I like a [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://the-beat.co.uk/i-like-a-girl/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>POEM OF MYSELF</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/poem-of-myself/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/poem-of-myself/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 23 Feb 2011 08:46:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>John Tustin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://the-beat.co.uk/?p=1119</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Mangy pallid-faced,
my eyes flash brilliant
in midnight mirrors;
I whisper secrets in my
own ear, and withdraw,
aghast at my own honesty,
my detrimental thoughts,
my obese lusts.
Muttering in the darkness,
under here no light penetrates,
nothing but rivers of boiling
angry blood.
I sleep fists and teeth
clenched, covers drawn
against the cold, the dark,
the world, you, my eyes,
my filthy hands,
myself.
]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://the-beat.co.uk/poem-of-myself/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Night</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/night/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/night/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 10 Dec 2010 07:28:45 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Maria Gornell</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://the-beat.co.uk/?p=1104</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Wind carries psychosis
collected in dream catchers.
 
Man ranting mania
ashen veined fists
grip rat hard
thrust limp labia
 
He turns to me
eyes cold, soulless
tells me he wants
to mutilate vulvas
carve flesh into
cute tiny purses
 
Eyes my disgust
senses my terror
that sends the limp
flesh cocked hard
 
My panic a turn on
the thrill of the chase
as I run – stricken
crowds of filthy pigeons
and people disperse.
 
In catatonic [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://the-beat.co.uk/night/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The host</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/the-host/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/the-host/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 10 Dec 2010 07:25:12 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Maria Gornell</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://the-beat.co.uk/?p=1102</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Swift winds feign a genius air
strum of e minor anxiety pitch,
relaxed as liquid numbs throat
passed through intestine
 
Round it circulates – perceived
fire in the belly, distorted now
by inhumane sadistic twinkle
to eye and I.
 
No jah but jar to throat
only worship self
as witches cackle reaches
high pitch – pasty faced
skin turns crimson.
 
she will not shed skin
 not tear, she sings
‘The [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>WHAT THE BLIND SHALL SAY OF A POET IN HIS GREATNESS</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/what-the-blind-shall-say-of-a-poet-in-his-greatness/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/what-the-blind-shall-say-of-a-poet-in-his-greatness/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 16 Nov 2010 08:16:06 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Sam Silva</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://the-beat.co.uk/?p=1095</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Henry goes on spindly legs;
his rotund middle
props a fiddle,
smoke blows from his arse
like eggs.
 
And the music of this
is bright as piss
like green and yellow
garden mellow
places where the sun shall rise.
 
And a spring does pour
among water lilies
&#8230;a polluted spring!
and words as well
with a similar smell
arise from the earth
and drip back to Hell
 
through the head! through the [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://the-beat.co.uk/what-the-blind-shall-say-of-a-poet-in-his-greatness/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Legacy</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/legacy/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/legacy/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 16 Jul 2010 07:19:53 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Silas Gorin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://the-beat.co.uk/?p=1056</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The clock’s now gone from the mantelpiece
Dad’s gone out for a long time too
But not the night shift, different work
 
Mum said. I listened, being a good boy
So I could get some answers later
With my questions – “Driving me ‘round the bend!”
 
Dad’s normal job was driving ‘round
Takes years of care and knowledge stored
Up inside the head [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://the-beat.co.uk/legacy/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Dissonance</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/dissonance/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/dissonance/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 16 Jul 2010 07:12:34 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Trevor Mitchell</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://the-beat.co.uk/?p=1054</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Tonight I spit lightening
 
I will burn down the sky
&#38; grind it into dust;
blown away in the rage
of a nuclear winter
 
the embers of love are
pissed on
by the cancerous dregs
of this mediocre age when
 
loneliness is a
whispered dissonance
heard down the years,
 
a flaccid cock that
will no longer rise,
an infection of the heart
 
that is measured in tears
to be jettisoned, finally,
like [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://the-beat.co.uk/dissonance/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>THE ART OF THE CANNIBOL</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/the-art-of-the-cannibol/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/the-art-of-the-cannibol/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 14 Jun 2010 07:42:14 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Sam Silva</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://the-beat.co.uk/?p=1049</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[That rooted kind of egoism
&#8230;whitmanesque
in lineage
with which the modern poets dig.
 
Without any hint of courage
he digs himself a grave.
 
In the triumph of the city
whose prophet is a pig
who the masses long to eat.
 
With a nearly sexual leer
&#8230;the faith of each blind fool
where religion is a knave
without tragedy
or pity
 
&#8230;a Eucharist of meat
chased down by a beer
in [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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