james watkin Poems

A floral motif
Porcelain upon.
Of who's fair smiled occasion
Reminds me, does this?
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A shade, outsoaring
Bird-like, in a dream
Summer, leave me not imploring
This grass-hatched leisure.
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Its trickly, treackly hints
Through each of these glints:
Sunned snow crystal's, or shyer
Of in love's eyer.
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Sadness, wintry sadness
Gloomiest of thoughts
For its habitual place
To withdraw into.
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Dreams, the loner's comfort
Consoled no more by.
With their subject realized, what now
Makes them more to cry!
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Whether through welcomings
Or those farewells
At dawn, at dusk, Day-smiled
Smiled, of us, back
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Life's, outgoing
Bare-stepped, smiling
My death speed on, if matching this!
Summer's ideal.
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The craze-warped place, that it is
Before his fogged eyes
Exposed. While evaporates
A heart's attachments.
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These shy cove's looks
Secret love's nooks
Serve well as.
To us, alone, this world felt left.
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Gazing up, night-tracking
Fuller, deeper
Stare-dropped, in plumbing the Earth
Goes our wonder.
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