Tony Mushrow Poems

The empty chair reminds me of how cruel life can be.
The empty chair reminds me of how joyous life once was.
It reminds me of how life once tasted sweet.
And how it can become so bitter.
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I saw a snail this morning,
I bet he never knew,
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The Hanging Tree…

The date is set, now I know my destiny, to dangle beneath the hanging tree. My one true love will be waiting for me, waiting beneath the hanging tree.
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The Ring.

I silently, slipped my gift of gold,
onto her fine third finger, left hand.
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The Colosseum

Fifty thousand Romans,
Shouting, roaring, more.
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You by the path…


You by the path,
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Half Written Poems.


They lie about, half finished, like flapping fish, taken from the sea, gasping for oxygen. Half alive, half dead, I visit them at times, and tantalise them, with a word or a line. Then leave again, its cruel really, they didn’t ask, to be born. They hide in old books, phones, computers, scraps of paper.
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The Haunter.


No more flesh,
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Who Is That In The Mirror?

Who is that in the mirror/
just staring back at me /
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Fire.


I sit and stare at my fire in the hearth.
...