Poetry Blog by Stockport WoL
Nigel Astell on Christmas 2020 Collage Poem: The Other Side of Love (Thu, 17 Dec 2020 01:25 am)
Nigel Astell on September 2020 Collage Poem: The Silence Still Talking (Wed, 30 Sep 2020 01:18 am)
Aches like an August sky with a lipstick smile
Tangled at sunset in crimson skies
Despicable creatures run and hide in shadows
Drowned rats find worry in their shadows
Running across drenched summits
Footsteps lined up in haiku beats
The crystal glass of the past life
A wedding present in the charity shop
I see the other me, before she turns the corner.
It wasn't me!
Tuesday 11th May 2021 11:19 am
If you don't know you won't know
and if you don't know that, then what do you know apart from that
according to you I am not me
An eightball car without wheels but with music
In the shadows of the city, the philosopher killed his bride
I knew the bride before she got wed he shrieked
and she smashed the DJ over the head with a bottle of 16th century single malt whiskey
Mr Motorist in red a...
Monday 12th April 2021 10:03 pm
Change rooms, change behaviour, change times.
Change partners, change parents, change poetic style.
The diary under my bed reveals truth but I still ebb away before your eyes
From the shadows she whispered,
Power proliferates, changing buses, changing lives,
Running away from somebody else’s husband
Profiteroles? I love profiteroles said Chaucer but I can't spell it.
Asking myself wha...
Tuesday 9th March 2021 1:07 pm
Velvet sabotaged nursey rhymes mired in melancholy
Life ends; dawn comes.
In Whaley Bridge the dam burst, screams heard, as a couple ran with hell in their wake and fire in their hair
Full-boned breakfast tastes salacious to the robots
Robin looked East while Mole burrowed up for a swift one in Stalybridge Station Bar.
Robots trying on clothes in topshop
Before hitching a ride to join Ni...
Monday 8th February 2021 10:28 pm
Atlas got lost when the wind blew his A-Z into the hurricane.
From caterpillars to butterflies --- hopefully we will all finally
Emerge from Covid's chrysalis-like grip.
Tapping on the door where a poet once lived changing
The meaning from a haiku to a sonnet in seconds
Fire melts her best form on this damp summer day
The three men, lost inside, drinking coffee until the dawn
And the ne...
Tuesday 12th January 2021 3:53 pm