Thomas P White Poems

Ex servicemen admire their red berets
In shop fronts, then move like wilting poppies
To retest the acoustics in cobblestone.
Why do they humpback scenic Arnhem?
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[i]

Boxed in by the odour of hawthorn
The small fields take shape
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[i]

I have a gripe with this land
What has it ever done for me?
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It all happened so quickly.
The wild duck rose, while I
Jumped in my tracks, my heartbeat
Quickening like its flaps of flight.
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