mayflies blue and green
skip beyond the riverbank
floating emeralds
Month: July 2017
Wolfsglade : a photograph
It is still said
that wolves
once lived in this glade
in days before
when the world was young
and in its verdant blankets
was game aplenty;
but for now they rest
waiting for the night
and primal dreams
of running.
eggshell blues
there are eggshells in my head
which each and every day
I choose to walk upon
in the hope their sky blue skins
will fracture
and in doing so
allow the thoughts contained within
to take wing and fly to you
longhand
He has a white book
for his poetry
and a black one
for his prose
that way he doesn’t
get mixed up
in grey shades
I suppose
Head Shake
I wrote this poem topless
by taking off my head
so I could tip out from my neck
the words on to my bed
la lune rouge
the moon knows what truths
inhabit the most guarded hearts
and she blushes red
behind a veil of midnight clouds
at their sinful shades
Post Teatime
we’ll have the war on Sunday
between three and half past four
then we’ll not have to worry
about Mondays anymore…
Imaginary Lines
the border was here
until it was moved
some years ago
today it’s beyond the horizon
so we can’t watch out
for our neighbours
anymore
The Piano In The Parlour : a short fiction as prose
her frail fingers
floated
above the keys
afraid to let them rest
upon the ivory
as the piano
hadn’t been tuned
since the day
he died
almost twenty years ago
and more than
anything
she didn’t want
to taint
her memories
of his melody
5-7-5 (take one-hundred-and-ninety-three : Schwalbe)
from the sunflowers
the swallow cut the daylight
a flying dagger
the blighters rock 