Poetry Blog by Rose Casserley
in fearful flight
from the shooters hidden
in the nearby riverbank reeds
wiser ducks have flapped their way
into the safety of my garden.
Twelve I managed to count
before my mud packed face at the kitchen window
sent them scuttling away through a hedge gap.
But in the distance,I can still hear the killing sounds continuing
shooting away for all they are (not) w...
Wednesday 17th January 2018 2:40 pm
always at family gathering's we used to love singing
about Bill Bailey who would never come home
or the unnamed somebody wanting to be shown the way home
because they were tired and wanted to go to bed.
And our frail old father sat there enjoying it all
a strong smile on his weather-beaten face in lieu
of those huge muscle's he used to carry mother up to bed with
Tuesday 16th January 2018 11:36 pm
I've googled up that rough-necked town
you ended up dying in
on the edges of a remote wilderness,
not unlike Dodge City
but without the horses
and probably only the odd good time gal for comfort.
Where the bracken surroundings veiled with dew-laden spider webs
and deathly silence waiting for a weak-kneed summer
you never lived to see.
No more shabby loneline...
Monday 15th January 2018 10:59 am
although I haven't a name for the bird
possibly blown off course
to its intended destination
now hidden in my garden hedge
probably trying hard to familiarize itself
with the chittering language of our homegrown species
I nevertheless have heard the most unusual most golden tones
it shares with them and my listening
that I can only describe
as being of such a soul-stirr...
Thursday 11th January 2018 11:33 am
Sunday 7th January 2018 10:29 am
we see them in all kinds of weather
the usual pin money earning male or female pensioner
staunchly holding the renowned sign mid road
watching over noisy nippers most times
holding hands with absolute rocks
that families build their futures on
commonly known as grandparents.
The yellow coated award-worthy symbol of defiance against old age
the guardian angel of the ...
Friday 5th January 2018 7:26 pm
I know a hill.
I see it often
in my shamed memory
a bloodstained hill
where on high
at the top of a centre-piece cross
the mocking sign
Jesus of Nazareth the king of the Jews
passed on by word of ancient mouths
visits my guilt on occasions
and reminds my soul
how very much
I must somehow go on trying
to kill that flower o...
Tuesday 2nd January 2018 10:57 am