Hit Title Date Added
War Torn
Some remnant living in muscle memory
is pressed, dressed and polished each time
he marches, slowly now and with tired bones,
to the Legion for his Friday bingo.
Terminal Leave. France 1917
I spent last night in my valley.
Green and peaceful, it is.
Slow wagons of unburdened past
creak slow down berry-bright lanes.
After The Deluge
There's a blue harmony to Summer rain,
Its subtle rhythm suits the mood I'm in,
A pulsing tempo, a liquid refrain
A Few Degrees Of Heat
A slope of rising road
gains on the pair of us -
forcing silence.
Dusty birds and drunken bees
For The Children
Along about now
old Day pulls the covers up
and whispers night-night.
We take slow trains to London moving clack-
clack past back door and yards sculpted in junk
with treasure troves of things they thought they loved;
sheds and beds and secret hiding places,
Little Star
A zillion miles of night
caress the little star.
One amongst countless
it shines, knowing only itself,
Visiting you, weeks into your illness,
I almost passed your bed
so unlike yourself you had become.
You saw me, but propriety
Blue Notes
Bar-room murmurs a dripping beat,
loud with sounding brass
and heavy metal thunder.
Out of what has gone before
We hang by threads of destiny;
Too late to change or to restore?

Delivering Poems Around The World

Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...

6/14/2021 2:02:35 AM #