HomesickHomesickHomesick
I’m following the moon down These sullen streets, maybe he’ll Let me in when he gets there. I wonder which door is his, Which warm window waits for him, Which cage holds his heart.
He touches a man living In a doorway, his silver Touch worth more than gold or change, (the poor man needs none!) He has more than any change Or fortune could ever buy.
The man gives him a knowing Nod as he passes, he’s been This way back before I see. Yet higher and higher he soars, Where’s he going? I moan with Growing anger. &
Transpennine ExpressHeading backwards on a train, toTranspennine Express
Another empty city,
Another crooked day,
at the cliff’s edge.
The past streams before me
– Trees in cities – cities in trees,
Rolling grandeur, and brittle lives –
Spread prone in its entirety,
Suddenly, swallowed by darkness.
It pushes me down. I relent.
In the black mirror our gazes meet.
Who will blink first? Neither.
The dark is snatched away
By trees wonting cities
And sheep wanting nothing.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
He scuttles by, clutching his
Tiny vocabular
Theo's ElegyThe sun glares at theTheo's Elegy
Smokers in front of
The children’s A & E.
Through the thirteenth puff
Of this morning’s dosage,
That glare is dim.
Inside, Arnie takes
His lollipop alone.
Like a big boy.
“That’s what mummy says,”
He tells the doctor,
“She’s outside with hers.”
Mummy stubs out her
Spent lolly, lights
Another, savouring
Not the flavour, but
The time, the time
Away from him
Ghost HunterGhost Hunter Within a silver tower of night Moves my waiting prey. Silent and unseen I circle, Snatching echoes from the dark – Reading every sound.Ghost Hunter
From these snapshot worlds I search the perfect angle – Wheel around once more – Then – strike into the herd.
For an instant – White and ghostly – in the tow’r The reaper’s seen;
Wings outstretched and lightning fast Its demon head ensnares a mozz! Then plunges back – out of sight, To contemplate – another strike
In the safety of the dark in the comfor
Devious Journal Entry
--
Poetry is an art. NOT. A science.
My father still reads the dictionary every day. he says your life depends on your power to master words. - Arthur Scargill
Life is a dream; the awakening kills us. - Virginia Wolf
--
My name is Alex too. lol.
--
"your silence equals your death"
--
Poetry is an art. NOT. A science.
My father still reads the dictionary every day. he says your life depends on your power to master words. - Arthur Scargill
Life is a dream; the awakening kills us. - Virginia Wolf
--
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[link]
from dusk to dawn
check my poem and tell me what you think
--
two worlds, one sky
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