Poetry
Poetry and prose old and new.
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- 532 reads
New Strangers
We sit like bookends Avoiding stare The haunting tick of the clock Rings like bad tinnitus. Frozen in fear or humiliation New strangers in this world. Silently bound by past
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- 672 reads
Afternoon In The Park
I come to the park where no-one’s around The bell chimes two in the echoing town Still it seems to me that chaos is near Above, in the sound of the birds I hear.
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- 444 reads
Ambition
A response to: “We’re all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars…” – Oscar Wilde. The Gutter was real, but Stars were my muse;
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- 470 reads
OId Photographs
The sky opens upon a thousand photographs a tiny river of time, dusty spreading into an ocean of existence. Reflected in the river in its sparkle a patchwork of moments
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- 603 reads
Wednesday Afternoons
The day your skin became softer We'd found fire instead of heat And beautifully on that encounter The only thing ticking was heartbeat. The day your kiss became smoother
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- 512 reads
The Morning Bus
I always sit a few rows behind you. You definitely notice me now. We share a journey, this silent intimacy most mornings, 7.17 till 7.47. No-one in your life sees you like this.
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- 531 reads