Inked
Needle to the skin
Instead of a blade
Temporary fixes
With permanent scars
Paint a pretty picture
I’ll put it on my arm
Friday 13th December 2019 4:58 am
Nothing
A burning flame
used to shine so bright
Until it blew out one night
Wick drowning in hot wax
The last of the smoke evaporates
Sitting on the shelf collecting dust
Friday 13th December 2019 3:43 am
Recent Comments
Holden Moncrieff on Better Sight...
52 minutes ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on 'What can writers and poets possibly do in the age of Trump, Farage and Starmer?'
1 hour ago
Mike McPeek on Civilities
1 hour ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on EVEN THE OLIVES ARE BLEEDING
2 hours ago
John Marks on EVEN THE OLIVES ARE BLEEDING
2 hours ago
Hélène on Better Sight...
3 hours ago
Hélène on I SHAN’T ALWAYS BE LOVELY
3 hours ago
Nigel Astell on August 2025 Collage Poem: A Cut Above
4 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Where is THIS Jerusalem?
5 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on A Cut Above
5 hours ago