Poetry Blog by Isobel (humour)
( A praise poem - of sorts)
I'll not forget the day we met
on the Piccadilly line
the memory lies grafted
embedded in my mind
I'd been working late at the office
commuting home alone
when you approached me with your mobile
and by that I don't mean phone
And I'd like to say you were beautiful
but in truth it was a shock
I never looked up f...
Tuesday 23rd July 2013 7:53 am
There are no young at the Yeung Sing hotel,
only those who grew old, singing for their supper,
or was it breakfast? For night turns to day, turns to night,
waiting to break fast, to break bread, to break owt
of the Yeung Sing Hotel where the hands of the clock stand still
like the ends of the arms of the chef who mans the grill.
Daylight saving seems a concept made in h...
Saturday 2nd April 2011 2:18 pm
- 2011 - 2013 (2)
Natalie Audoire on Turning Over Stones (Tue, 9 Sep 2014 10:11 pm)