god (Remove filter)
Bone
and spat it out
and for many years it crawled
before it learned to stand
where it said “I will make you now a fresh bowl,
from my family’s blood”
Friday 19th April 2013 7:43 am
What Angels?
what angels they?
they that always seem
to be looking
the other way
while in absentia
those robed in blight
and grey
of beak pick the bones of
our grief
genuflecting promises
on the never-never
of a day
after tomorrow that none
will ever see
what angels they?
they that can no longer
play
Sunday 16th December 2012 2:13 am
Recent Comments
Tom Doolan on In Your Arms
1 hour ago
Graham Sherwood on Return to Waterloo
3 hours ago
Graham Sherwood on One thing becomes another
4 hours ago
Mike Bartram on 'Baby Bear'
4 hours ago
Graham Sherwood on Forgive, Not Forget
6 hours ago
Naomi on THE CRACK IN THE SHELL
7 hours ago
Naomi on THE CRACK IN THE SHELL
7 hours ago
K. Lynn on We Rise
7 hours ago
branwell kent on Bill
10 hours ago
John Coopey on MY MAN
13 hours ago