Grahame Lockey Poems

Autumn born and autumn led
Autumn named, maybe autumn wed
For who knows what the wind will blow around your knees
Or what will fall
...

What to buy a woman who’s grown up with quality,
who sums its parts up, knows the names it calls us with?

What would suit a woman who wears the right decision,
...

With a wind tan of what gets to him, he
turns his back on what is beckoning,
knowing it's bringing, red-lettered,
a date with it - one he may never learn.
...

Like gnats, strange lights bother
the marsh. Crickets chirp, bats
skim across the ale-dark night
and a breeze rustles the leaves
...

A breakable silence held
until a tear rolls
into a sob
and you turn away your face.
...

It comforts some to see life
as a journey to a happy land,
where the holiday sun never sets.
Heaven – no maps exist; no one
...

nought
or a hoop
to play with,
jump through;
...

Swarthy brow and barley fingers; nails with cheerless moons of grime;
Deadweight sackcloth suit coarse fitting; long his laughter, short your time.
His hand on your shoulder makes you older, holds you where the clocks don’t chime.
His grinning bearhug makes you bolder; reason does not sit with rhyme.
...

At the end of escalators out, wind
drives rain hard into the face -
umbrellas can't withstand it.
...