james watkin Poems

That which flows, as a feeling
Here, now betwixt us
Through words unspoke and unsung
Rhymes. Is melodious.
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Whilst hears from whom, alongside
Gently, as does befit
One, to all such fair works, responds
With sensitivity
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Lady of leisure
Its look reclined.
The sensuous, embodies not
As what's refined.
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'Moored, each cool retreat, before
Small pleasure boat.
Strolling distance, from each side
What is, nathless
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Sly, but in a nice way
That hand, a druggist's.
Under its sleeve, clouded
So kept. Til outspread.
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A-drowse, the look
O'erlies all things.
Along this road to it.
Stony and scorched.
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Quiet, but whose emptiness
A country eve's
More that, unwelcome, in me
Chill-blown receives.
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Leads, by gentle persuasion
This land, of rolling hills.
Down from o'er them, grass-whistled through:
'I've got more to show you! '
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Turn not just one way
And not just to browse.
Heads, as much inquisitive
With the raised eyebrows.
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This light, soaked up
Gum scents emit
A soothing oil, summer eve's.
Sunday's; tight-knit.
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