Francesca Johnson Poems

Sean is not a sheep
to be shorn.

Don't be woolly-headed, mate.
...

He said:

'I'm only a man.
Can't multi-task.
...

There are a whole lot of holes
in Bletchley.

On the whole.
...

I asked a dog-walker for the short cut
to the local centre shop.
She told me 'Walk to the village green
then turn right. A skip and a hop.'
...

Two muntjac
and a security guard.
Barrier.
Well-tended lawns.
...

I will cross that line
between then and now,
past and present.
...

One day I'll go back to Coalville
and whisper you a hello.

I'll see again those twinkling blue eyes,
...

A happy lot, us Sad Bastards.
We raise our glasses
Kick some asses
Laugh, tell rude jokes
...

They're flaky,
those sad legs.
They need a woman's touch
so very much.
...

You stand like a lily amongst weeds,
sowing the seeds
of joy and beauty.
Mayhem all around
...