Michael Shepherd Poems

In the Hundred Acre Wood, agitation spread like one of those cold March winds that seem to be blowing in every direction at once. All the Animals were murmuring to each other, then to someone else, and rumour spread like blown dry leaves in an autumn gale..

Wol’s nephew, who was too clever for his own good, Wol said, had found a torn piece of dirty newspaper wrapped round some compost behind a tree, which came, it said, ‘From Our …..wood Correspondent’
and which said something about ‘…Robin…girl’…
...

This forest glade, mossy, silent underfoot,
shaft of sunlight catching the quivering flight of woodland moths,
tempts even the shyest, slender deer
whose slightest nostril twitch, reveals a whole forest’s map;
...

see that woman
flung over her son's dead body
howling from the depths
of her womb
...

Thanks, I'll have a white wine. Small.

You 'wanted to talk'.
He's dumping me. I'll live.
...

It's the word you hear
when anti-French views are aired -
MERDE!
...

Self-moved; self-stilled; why then for us
this noble creature takes the form of unicorn?

Part horse, with shaggy goatlike hooves,
...

A recipe for thought:

Take a pair of scales
as large as the boundless human mind,
...

The poet -
by whom I mean
an ordinary human being like you or me
who keeps a diary
...