Poetry Blogs (not listening)
Nicola Beckett on You Win (1 hour ago)
Nicola Beckett on Vacant (1 hour ago)
Paul Sayer on (1 hour ago)
Brian Maryon on Record Number of Migrants Cross The Channel - Aug 6 (9 hours ago)
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