where is spring (Remove filter)
the small american mammal lied
the coldest nights are the quietest
though the litter chatters around my feet
like the arctic teeth of an almost corpse
and the gas settles close to home
glassy in it’s welcome
the trees, taut, still brittle of bone,
clench every desperate sinew
as fleshless fingers on a wintered birch
gnarl a carpal tunnel to the council’s moon
Saturday 30th March 2013 4:31 pm
Recent Comments
Tom Doolan on Honey Be My Valentine
7 hours ago
Marla Joy on Egypt
7 hours ago
Marla Joy on By The Light Of The Moon
8 hours ago
Naomi on THE CALL OF IRELAND
12 hours ago
Flyntland on A lull in the fighting
15 hours ago
Nigel Astell on February 2025 Collage Poem: Somewhere Forgotten
15 hours ago
Robert Mann on Percival
17 hours ago
Graham Sherwood on The Sunshine Boys
18 hours ago
Landi Cruz on overqualified
1 day ago
john short on Saor Alba Gu Brath
1 day ago