Friday, 4 March 2016


I haven't written a poem in an age. But I do on occasion.

Today I got the urge.


Lately I’ve been looking,
At the litter, windblown, in the street,
At the weeds, thrust green from this crack, that crack,
At the skies that come and go and come,
The seasons turn,
Beyond my catching.

Graveyard walks where years trail fingers across headstones,
This one leaning, drunk on duty, a soldier of the great war, known to God,
This one cracked, that one sinking,
Here words too blurred to read, the angel never blinking,
I have been looking lately.

There are things I cannot have,
Or hold, or want,
Times that won’t be, scenes I won’t see,
Touches unknown,
Futures scatter,
And matter no more than what the wind takes.

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