stubble (Remove filter)
Winter Town
This is my vision of a certain cast of English village (not so much in springtime).
Winter Town
March winds stir listless eddies,
fluke in tired gusts over thin pools,
flare through fields of stubble
then flag, exhausted, sour and wheezing
from the blowing day;
coughing, rubbing arthritic fingers,
cold as a church bell sounds the hours.
Spring will be late this...
Saturday 23rd December 2017 3:13 am
Recent Comments
Graham Sherwood on A Prize Miscast: A Warning to Oslo
16 minutes ago
Red Brick Keshner on to be real
27 minutes ago
Graham Sherwood on "AS SURE AS GOD'S IN GLOUCESTER..."
1 hour ago
Stephen Gospage on A memoir
1 hour ago
Stephen Gospage on Le Chat noir
1 hour ago
Stephen Gospage on "AS SURE AS GOD'S IN GLOUCESTER..."
1 hour ago
John Coopey on BUCKET LIST
16 hours ago
Auracle on World On Fire
16 hours ago
Red Brick Keshner on part savage, part human
19 hours ago
Red Brick Keshner on Sven's soul funk
19 hours ago