I was relieved to see her on my walk along the river front with the black heron and squatting geese Although relief is not what I thought I’d feel A sweet smell rose from the river it was not unpleasant, at least though some people might say so Flowers drooped from…
Recognize that it doesn’t matter if we spell it recognize or recognise or worship one god or another. Simple words are often the best in complex times. via the Daily Prompt
London skyline, pretend goats, smelly llamas, waiting to be stuffed, flares on. Rabbits, not fit for the wild, content munching hard frozen grass, mostly mud. So much white in so much mud. So much white in so much mud. Standing in the cold garden admiring Victorian foresight. A green space in…
~ bus station poem ( a real-life scribble ) … at bay twenty’s human zoo patience – stations queues for queues old folk natter that & this odd folk they write shit like this un… Source: bus station poem This week I’ve chosen to feature another poet, one I discovered just this week. One poem…
“I’m anxious.” I know you are. I walk behind you because if I walked in front of you you’d lose me and you’d get angry. There’s no point trying to negotiate. You think about the children, not you and I. Maybe it’s because you’re divorced, guilty, you keep me out all…
Pallets on a roof, aloof twenty-somethings on their coop-like balconies, bent arms of machinery, many miles from the farms of our ancestry. Messed up love, kissing on the pavement, rolling in kebab, dancing with someone, everyone, in a cramped bar, water dripping from the ceiling on the bartenders head, a roving hand on your…
CHICKEN SHOP CHICKEN SHOP STOP IT STOP IT YOU’RE MAKING MY CHILD FAT.
New year, new me, new you, new us, new together and new alone, new united, we stand turned boots to the future, arse to the past. We take one look over our shoulder, and with a sigh, say “Whatever,” then shrug, “This year will be better.”
From the badgering treetops To the lowly park bench Four youths Smoking Trees hang like butterfilies from Fillies a hatchery’s rooftop where the butterfly hatcher has poowerful values and lots of children, and poo. Listen to what I’m saying to you Make sense of it, make sense of this, I beg you Because I Can’t.…
We haven’t sat on the sofa since you left. It was yours. We can’t touch it. For breakfast we all eat Weetabix with box-milk. No one has been to the shop. No one has left the house. There are tears at the bottom of the stairs each morning. We are determined to succeed for you.…
Seal Matches 