Poetry Blogs (2010, memories)

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Broken treasure chest

entry picture


At the back of the closet,

Right in the corner,

He kept all the treasures,

Of love’s great importance.

The chest was really, merely a box,

Covered in dust, a three-digit lock,

He sat there in silence, fourth of December,

412, glad he remembered.

The first thing he noticed, after the hinges creaked,

Made him drop to his knees, admiring her physique,


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There Was



There was a time when I was young
and still depended on my mum,
when days were warm and time was free
and events were kept fond in my memory

The days we spent upon the sand,
with crabs in buckets, spade in hand,
or out with nets on bikes across the field,
to go and see what the brook could yield.

There was a time when I left home,
for I was old enough to roam,

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