Michael Shepherd Poems

unknown; formless;
eternal; always present

who may think of it?
...

How long
may a heart stay bruised
before it starts to bruise
itself?
...

Hopes die;
dreams fall;
and, subtlest stroke of all,
love sharply, cruelly, hides her face,
...

I’m not one for mementoes – Grandma
in sepia, pie-crust necked and pleated blouse,
expressionless amidst her dressed-up, mixed-up brood; chic aunt
with that hundred-watt smile which clicked
...

oh shitty kitty
what a pity

kitty's bitter
...

You're not
going out
wearing
that
...

Now that the frost has gone its rimy way
there’s the matter of that long grass
that meets the undergrowth
at the end of the garden;
...