Poetry Blogs (tudor house)
I come on Thursday, sit on wooden chair
where poets congregate in strange half light,
sharing their thoughts with those who gather there -
the words are spoken, soaring, shining bright,
warming us as we leave to face the night.
The bear pit darkens, but forever hosts
the rhyming, raging, ranting, Tudor ghosts.
Thursday 20th November 2014 7:19 pm