Neil Crawford Poems

He rose, on wings of hope, to his new found friend, the sky

while all around him those with tougher hearts and hides
...

Obvious rural melancholy sold by Turner, Elgar, Blake
pales into insignificance beside the cityscape.

People seen from buses, sat in the cruel, white light
of the late night launderette or the arcade's dangerous door.
...

Scenes of odd consistency,

spent feathers on a breaking wave
...

The tree's branches,
like giant hands
reach out to the sky
but the stars, in gratitude,
...

Rain and light on skin,

shadow shot forest drools,
...

There was a storm here last night,

clouds cracked on mountain tops
...

Flowering cherry in full bloom,

wind shook, rain kissed petals
...

A lethargic crow sculls its way

through a numbing broth of sky.
...

I saw a Kingfisher once, watchful on a rock,

down by the valley brook.
...

Dawn smeared through night

in shades of dirty pink.
...