Robert W.Quilter Poems

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My Oldest Friend

my oldest friend
he says carefully
is sharing a cell, and a toilet
with a man who probably

To Choose A Dog

'what man has bent o'er his son; s sleep to brood
how that face shall watch his when cold it lies?
or thought, as his own mother kissed his eyes,
of what her kiss was when his father wooed? '

You Just.....

' just lean across when you're on the floor
on the 'net with her last thing
and start kissing her-her neck, her ears,
her throat.

A Panting Corpse

he doesn't understand
because Val is already dead
she died in 2006
and the last section of her life, spent in cohabitation, with

The Contained Man

a man is sitting on a bed
the body of a woman is beneath the covers,
she is or rather was, my mother


it was April, and in the cafe he was reading a paper
Baghdad had fallen
the new struggle between Islam and Christendom

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