The grey cold of winter rain lashes face and hands and me. Raven clouds dark as my damaged thoughts lie overhead, threatening, sinister. Muddy paths…
The pretentious prattlings of a piss poor poet
Month: January 2018
I found a photograph the other day Of me in younger clothes Squirreled away buried in battered cardboard cave Dingy, dusty, damaged, Dumped in haste…
Through the chill mist comes the honk of lonely goose From an island over in the stream Somewhere out of view In the grey light…
The shadows that we cast On life Are transient fleeting Ghosts of what might have been And then they change To what we have become…
The leaves are turning now Away back home Nights are drawing in Wood fires lit Against late evening cool Mists in early noon Rolling over…
A hunger For life Invades My being And leaves my soul Filled With wonder 26/09/1998