A blind man’s fingers
Would trace a path
Across the knotted folds
Of knobbled flesh;
Linger over loss lines
Feel the weeping writ there
For Adults
All | Short Stories | Poetry | Scripts
Sometimes I write silly poems, sometimes I write serious poems – but regardless of the content, their origin always has a common core – a few words that ‘come’ on their own, bidden by a moment, a connection, a thought, or a feeling – words that drop into my mind, and that I now drop into yours. If you’d like to read more, contact me.
Punctuation Poems
O! Most Excellent Exclamation!
and
My Sweet Semi-colon
The Arms of the World
There is a place I go
High on a cliff
This Particular Day
The yellow-fingered dawn
takes me hand
as if to say
Wistful
What a word
‘wistful’ is –
Definitely not getting up to run at dawn
I lie in bed,
reach for the screen
It was a misty, moisty morning
It was a misty, moisty morning
When all the world was new