depressive (Remove filter)
Black Poplar
two flightless birds on a branch
a wood-saw working in my hand
you trying to stop me sawing
hoping to keep us on dry land
below us runs a deep rushing river
if the branch is severed, we drown
I shrug off your efforts to stop me
Though it will bring both of us down
the branch is nearly sundered
I can hear it creak and groan
your hysteria makes me angry
I w...
Thursday 3rd September 2020 10:31 am
Recent Comments
Stephen Gospage on A Different Kind of View
22 minutes ago
David RL Moore on Scrap yard philosophy, too late
1 hour ago
John Coopey on A Different Kind of View
1 hour ago
Telboy on A Different Kind of View
1 hour ago
John Coopey on TRANSUBSTANTIATION
1 hour ago
rob1967able on song of pure desperation.
11 hours ago
William Alderson on And now for something completely different ... Write Out Loud poets turn out nonet after nonet to mark World Poetry Day!
11 hours ago
Auracle on Defined
12 hours ago
Steve White on TRANSUBSTANTIATION
16 hours ago
Auracle on Believe it or not
17 hours ago