The may flower

the may flower is out
and a warm wind
storms along
the coast;
gathers shadows
into the sea,
the night
swells, heavy
with anticipation;
far away
a whale,
a candle
throws shadows
on these pages
where the light
march along,
a cheerful
at the pretty girls,
who shake their ribbons
and their curls,
so fleetingly.

◄ A blackbird sings on Blue bird hill

Angelus Bell ►


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Stephen Atkinson

Sun 14th May 2023 21:42

Beautifully written, as usual 🌈

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John Marks

Sun 14th May 2023 20:06

Thank you Leon. Your words encourage me more than you can know. So, thank you kind sir.

“Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.” — Carl Sandburg, from The Atlantic, March 1923.

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Sun 14th May 2023 12:53

As always John, an absolute pleasure to read your poetry
thank you sir!


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