james watkin Poems

Rained upon, any place else
Would just be unpleasant.
But this is an English dell.
Fairy-lit; and not scant
...

A balcony for a house!
Unto freshenings, sea-voiced
Itself an open window.
A sensory experience!
...

In anticipation, what has been
Reached out for to savour
Morning-slow, in a summer's day
Of an orange colour
...

A cloud; and some raindrops.
Gloominess; some woe.
What of a day went by
Above and below.
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Within this frailness, with frosty look
Best left, what hides Love's rose
At home, as upon a shelf.
Exudes my true self.
...

Then dim, this, your fiery mien
Dull, that, your thunder;
To show yourself, to speak up
If a lorn father.
...

Though each day's Sun awakes
To what, unchanged
In fealty to its ancient forbears
Tuneful arranged
...

Blossom tree, there blown. Of who's face
Yonder strewn does blur now.
Fairest recall! When, piece by piece
That traced up does yet wow.
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Blessed? Unconditionally
Smiled o'er from on high?
Trite and childish! He'll need more
To feel it. For, cry.
...

Inch by inch we uncovered them.
Abbreviating year by year
Mode up from ankles summer-sloshed;
Eve's rhythm-swirling gear.
...