David Coldwell (Remove filter)
The Football
Who would have guessed that a small tree
could be so vicious. All day you had kicked
the new football back and forth against
the gable of the red brick terrace and
not even the promise of ice cream could
coax you away, until the Blackthorn spoilt the game.
That’s when you ran back, holding the thing
with your thumb pressed white against its skin.
You begged me for some...
Wednesday 5th July 2017 6:59 pm
The Football
David Coldwell reads The Football at the 2013 Derwent Poetry Festival.
Monday 11th November 2013 5:32 pm
Recent Comments
TomBrooks on US poet with tragic back-story wins National Poetry Competition
1 hour ago
Philip Stevens on This Imaginary Life-Part 3 (Nature)
11 hours ago
Nigel Astell on June 2025 Collage Poem: I Watched the Trains Come, I Watched the Trains Go
18 hours ago
Tom Doolan on Poetry Is Pain
23 hours ago
David RL Moore on Too late too late
1 day ago
Rolph David on Love The Light, Embrace The Rain
1 day ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on The roads taken
1 day ago
Red Brick Keshner on still, the Earth breathes
1 day ago
Marnanel Thurman on The roads taken
1 day ago
Red Brick Keshner on where shadows do not drown
1 day ago