but I never
went to his funeral.
If I didn’t have sons
of my own
I’d have gone.
But I do, so I know
that no force on earth
could ever make me
remember school days and how we would play
like there was no tomorrow?
now the castles we made
are the price we must pay
or flounder in oceans of sorrow
roaming wild and free, building houses in trees
as worlds waltzed to discordant tunes
like a zephyr through grass,
gilded summer days passed;
left us flayed under Cheshire moons
wooden sword fights and valiant knights;
pirates, the Pan and his Bell,
faded from dreams,
rowed ungentle streams,
to where the real monsters dwell
I’ve climbed faraway trees, seen fair Honah-Lee,
never never thought I’d grow old
now the pied piper calls —
before the last curtain falls,
leafless, I’ll trip into the wold.
First published by Wolf Publishing June, 2015
I blushed, despite imagining her often
unclothed — long caramel legs
arabesque honed, perhaps a soft tuft
to cover their tryst. I’d dreamt
creamy breasts with rose petal tips
that would stiffen and rise
in the moonlight.
The first time I saw her naked,
I stood with her mother —
the woman who bore her,
and the boy who adored her,
alone with death in the room.
I subscribe to a number of online poetry sites in order to receive my daily dose of poetry. One of my favourites is Autumn Sky Daily Poetry. Editor, Christine Klocek-Lim, selects a wonderful and varied array of poetry for her site and has introduced me to many new poets as well as reacquainting me with some great vintage verse.
I was so excited when today’s Autumn Sky email arrived and I saw my poem – Unburied Hatchet – featured on the site. Thank you, Christine.
This link will take you to my poem if you’re interested: Unburied Hatchet at Autumn Sky Daily Poetry.
If you’re looking for fresh and engaging poetry in your inbox each day, I can’t recommend this site highly enough.
The Harley was midnight polished chrome,
three years of saving — a gift to myself
in the spring of seventeen.
I donned leathers as my birthday broke,
left the house that was not home
and rode out into morning. Rode
until I landed, beneath the steely gaze
of a drill sergeant who forged men
from boys of seventeen.
He shaved away my dreadlocks,
found a fractured soul beneath,
broke it down
then built it up,
First published by Silver Birch Press, February 2017
Some wonderful poems have appeared throughout the series and I’m excited to appear alongside so many talented poets.
Please have a look if you get the chance. Thanks for your support 🙂
The sweating men form a ring,
aroused by proximity to death.
Snatched from backyards as children slept,
two dogs now circle and snarl.
Flies feast on blood and one dog goes down,
back legs splayed, front torn and flailing.
Defeat is a whimper – sharp teeth at the throat –
from which men turn and tally bets.
I step from my father’s shadow
to stroke the blood-matted fur
of the dog left discarded on straw.
I know how it feels to be flayed.
First published by Algebra of Owls
An Old Plumber, An Ex-Carer, An Amateur Poet, Words From The Heart
a quarterly journal of short prose
Every Life Story Begins with a Mum
A site to water everyone’s gardens
A place where words come alive
Where writers gather
Looking ahead, without looking back (too often)
Dive into a collection of memories, musings and emotions concocted delicately over time into short stories and introspective articles...
Short stories online
Dog Training Guidance
Tammy's Reading Writing Life
Join us here for a wide-ranging and impressive array of writing
An ongoing collection of stories told in short form
Published quarterly on the last day of January, March, June and September
Writer, Performer, Professor
Poetry from a heart on fire
and the occasional camera
A trip through life with fingers crossed and eternal optimism.
Ink and Quill
Blurring the lines between poetry and prose
Books, Editing, Coaching, and Other Twists and Turns
21st Century Poetry
Writer and photographer
Lin Marshall Brummels - Poetry, Prose, Prairies and Pollinators
A PROJECTILE FOR INCENDIARY FLASH FICTION
Career Advice in Technical Communication
Short, sharp flash fiction
A bit of this and that
The view from my front porch (in Pennsylvania) or back patio (in London) every morning, in tweet-sized bites
too much coffee, too little sleep, a love of words...
by Sam Allen
by Hudson Biko
welcome to my insanity.
Writer. Reader. Equestrian. Explorer.
And so it goes...