Poetry Blog by Monica Winter
I love it when we sleep
all snuggled up like Babes in the Wood
a jumble of innocense
we are nothing but good.
Tuesday 23rd August 2016 1:14 pm
Things thought about whilst
pushing a vaccuum cleaner
around. All sucked up.
Tuesday 23rd August 2016 1:10 pm
A small flock of unidentified birds
flies into the skeleton trees
What magic is this?
Smoke from the boiler-house chimney,
at the mercy of the fickle wind,
blows this way and that, confused
unstopping, white, following the music
of Mozart's violins: moving, then still
- a crescendo starts to build -
- falls away to keen -
- a lull -
Saturday 4th June 2016 1:02 pm