Poetry Blogs (not listening)
I walk amongst the trees but who is there to hear?
I whisper and let my voice rustle the leaves until their tremors cease.
Hoarse and weary, not heard, not seen, I wonder if I have ever been.
A Norwegian hillside, a Norwegian wood, I sing your song.
There is much talking but who is there ever to hear?
In life, I roar silently as people pass, unseeing.
Soundless, I mo...
Sunday 3rd April 2016 11:19 pm
Stubborn as he was,
And was he stubborn? Yes.
He didn’t want to pull his
Though he knew it for the best.
He picked a poppy,
Stole a rose,
And ran laughing all the way home,
Friday 13th January 2012 9:34 pm