Poetry Blogs (saw-pits)
And Now I'm Old
This poem carries faint echoes of winter in a Mediterranean climate, in this case the South West of Western Australia; limpid skies, stormclouds threatening, people in overcoats walking hastily. Rather like an English summer, I would have thought!
And Now I'm Old
And now I'm old as softening apples
left forgotten on a sideboard
after a windy day,
the murmur of the evening room
...Thursday 19th October 2017 11:09 am
Recent Comments
Paul Sayer on An open letter to cancer (5 minutes ago)
John Coopey on BE GRATEFUL FOR THE DARK DAYS (10 minutes ago)
Brian Maryon on It’s Bleak up North, now (14 minutes ago)
Paul Sayer on Bad smile (14 minutes ago)
John Coopey on UP IN THE GODS (15 minutes ago)
Paul Sayer on Stray Thoughts (27 minutes ago)
Brian Maryon on Cooking Pot! (28 minutes ago)
Brian Maryon on BE GRATEFUL FOR THE DARK DAYS (30 minutes ago)
Paul Sayer on Cooking Pot! (33 minutes ago)
Philipos on UP IN THE GODS (35 minutes ago)