If our grandparents left their house, 
we'd miss the Autumn evening drive
to there after school on Fridays,
down the road where people rarely
discover their way to the village with
thirty-five locals, still quite hidden & remote.

We'd miss the night's clouds on
silent stained glass of the village
Church as it greets us just before 
the flare of trees & village green
is still distinguis...

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Mouthful Of Words

Poem after Brian Moses

These are the words my teacher teaches,

omnipresent, evaporating, invigilator, dichotomy,

diminuendo.

Then there are the words at home they choose

in our chatters animated to recounting the news.

There are the words that Grandma always seems

to say that I regurgitate, no matter the situation or their

denoting: bam...

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