Howard Pipe Poems

Nerve cells tingle
as a sharp bolt
of energy
switches power
...

I am passing through time,
and in the morning light
she waits at the bus stop,
like yesterday in black and white
...

Their chiselled contours are featureless
when the wind changes,
no cairns to mark their traces,
buried by a falling sky,
...

You will be spending time
like last year, on your knees
raking back the dead leaves,
like a child again.
...

Windswept clouds turned slate grey
edge the blue skies of morning.
The air feels fresh
as if the swan song of Summer is over;
...

Memories linger
like mist on a turning tide,
then fade
into the unknown.
...

A buzzard rides the thermals
above the winding beck,
where the old stones hide away
and weary travellers trek.
...

He slips through the shadows, early morning rises slowly.
Feels its naked breath
as the day splutters into life.
Shivers, alone,
...

Before the sun falls
into long nights,
trees trace their empty outlines
against the hollow landscape.
...

I can splash warmer tones
on a watery sky,
nudge the drifting cloud,
touch the Spring shoots,
...