W.B. Yeats (Remove filter)
Sashaying to Byzantium
That is no session for old men. The young
With lithe legs and arms stretch like sapling trees
We, flailing generation whose Latin songs
Fail inflamed and arthritic joints to ease
We began at eight, it’s now ten, how long
Before one amongst us succumbs, and dies?
Caught in that sensual music all wrecked
Monuments of years of bad neglect
An agèd man is but a tragic ...
Wednesday 20th November 2024 5:19 pm
A Row Of Beans
The arch poet tends to his row of beans
as once he broadcast words across the land.
He sighs for these stems of rogue angle
for as he outgrows limelight well deserved
his arguments pale, but not love, for love
the arch poet tends to his row of beans.
For love the arch poet made the verses
to challenge the spirit of any age
who in adversity is found unfair.
He created a space for p...
Monday 19th September 2022 1:09 pm
Recent Comments
Auracle on The Nobel Prize for Lies
39 minutes ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on The Nobel Prize for Lies
1 hour ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on YORKSHIRE DAY
1 hour ago
John Coopey on YORKSHIRE DAY
1 hour ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Farewell
1 hour ago
Alexia_Supreme on A Somewhat Short Poem About Almost Nothing
5 hours ago
Landi Cruz on frankenstein
6 hours ago
Trevor Alexander on The Nobel Prize for Lies
13 hours ago
Trevor Alexander on Target
16 hours ago
Mike McPeek on A Somewhat Short Poem About Almost Nothing
20 hours ago