h jenkins
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Finest Hour - A Lockdown Poem
During the Coronavirus lockdown, there seems to have been a renewal of interest in poetry. Perhaps this is a British characteristic – in times of crisis, a tendency to resort to rhyme rather than reason. Whatever! So, although I've not posted on here for some time I thought I'd offer up these few lines.
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Waking
I’m often awoken by the passerine choir, Not conscious exactly, but nor am I dreaming. My love lies beside me, the spring of desire, Her soft lips...
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- 389 reads
I'm Dreaming of a White Easter
It ain't 'alf bloomin' taters out there!
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- 1487 reads
Literati and other things
Ever thought there should be a word for 'em?
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