naive poetry

A Mersey Memory, a short fiction as prose

one morning in October
woken by a westerly wind
singing on the early tide
he lamented the fact
that there were places
in this world
through which
no rivers flowed

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Angels (notes)

the good angels of our natures
denied ascension’s wings
make do with us as best they can
with such flawed lesser beings
no haloed golden crowns atop
theor often shaking heads
instead of battles eternal fought
they guide our souls instead
and in their glow we find our light
and make us more than clay
so in the end our heaven sought
they help us to create

Down Da Docks (what I hope will be a longer poem)

across the docks
in fancy socks
to watch the ships roll by
no sound save
the lapping waves
and seagulls in the sky

my thoughts then went
to days well spent
before the winter came
and on old friends
not seen since then
I struggle for their names

playing dares
most unawares
of how long spring can last
but time it burns
and there’s no return
to the playgrounds of the past