Poetry Blog by Ralph Dartford
On the laps of our beloved smoking mothers -
we heard them speak of how the world
was whilst they were young.
The festooned nights of war-torn bingo halls -
where everything was just about right and unjust
about wrong. Where no one owned a phone.
I can still see her on abandoned mornings -
alone and never giving inches to winter ghosts.
Cigarette in mouth. Eyes down. Enraged of Englan...
Tuesday 6th April 2021 8:46 am
The diggers at Black Cross
waiting for grief that climbs
its reason hilltop bound.
Sting of the hot funeral tear -
cold rain on wild-red curly hair.
Yes. She’d drink the cinema of this.
The waltz of born bluebells,
a stalled train before the tunnel.
Bending this season to her end.
Sunday 4th April 2021 9:58 am
It’s early evening. I’m meeting
a man to discuss iambic.
He offers a drink and I refuse.
He asks why not, of course.
I say one will lead to another.
Then to cocaine - then to crack.
Then to heroin.
Then to black.
Let’s discuss iambic, I say.
My parameters are pentameter.
Sunday 4th April 2021 9:55 am
It all began so very well
on this blossomed Easter Day.
Which led to a misunderstanding -
in a quietened, difficult way.
Tiptoeing the Pacific shoreline,
Hannah gripped her black plastic locket.
Showed him all her sacred stories
that were hidden within her pockets.
A plastic six-legged spider,
a chewed Chewbacca pencil.
A love letter from the tiny boy,
her dreams of b...
Saturday 3rd April 2021 4:22 pm