Journey of Words

Tag: Poems

  • In Dreamland

    Cliché the commentator was taken by surprise Could not imagine what he was seeing Could not believe his eyes . The football pitch was purple Goals were hanging in the air The ball was a huge fat toffee apple The referee an old grey mare . Beach huts dotted the terraces With families at barbecues →

  • Rhyme or Reason

    All this washing! All colours faded Magic thinned Sweet spells spun out Dark potions dried All wrung tight Hung out in rain Concoctions separate Mystery now plain All once known Must be re-found again . www.napowrimo.net day 3 rhyme…random words…sense from chaos. CLP 03/04/2020 →

  • Under the Moon

    Turn through the gate And you’ll be at Peace Field A meadow, full of knee-high, soft, wild grasses Mixed with blues of corn flowers Yellows of buttercups Purple ragged-robins And browns and whites Of butterflies and moths On your left a mown path Winding through the orchard Still holding pink blossom On spreading boughs . →

  • Day 13

    The rhythm of the day is beginning to lose its pattern. Middle of night interruptions to sleep come without pressure to return to dreamland. Distance from others is becoming accepted; is there any point going out there? Eschewing television as formulaic, lacking originality, dull, I choose to listen to music. Lyrics bore me. Orchestral compositions, →

  • Memoried

    Picked up as a tale Dusted off; polished to taste Presented as Truth . CLP 30/03/2020 →

  • Update on “Lions, Lionesses and The Clown

    29th March, 2020 and still health workers are not able to get the kit they need to stay safe and nurse the sick. Two NHS doctors die of Covid-19 Lions, Lionesses and the Clown can be read here. CLP 29/03/2020 →

  • Something

    Too much time on my hands Sorting out photos You came back into view From a time we shared focus . With vision now sharper Fog lifted from lens I see something was wrong Even back then . CLP 29/03/2020 →

  • Day 12

    British Summer Time, the forward shift of clocks by an hour, has blown in on a gale straight off the North Sea. Hailstones are spat at the window. Some of the ice pellets stick before slipping slowly; disintegrating as they slide, leaving a tear stain on the pane. The hazel bush flexes in the gusts, →

  • Day 11

    Awoken at 04:30 hrs. First dim light of the new day. A stag bellows from the wood on the hill. Tree branches, unsteady in the stiffening northerly wind, emit a low, irregular moan. Behind this lies the slow-motion rush of heavy waves breaking hard on the shingle. Then the long draw as the sea inhales →

  • Day 10

    Unclouded skies of these past five days have stimulated rapid growth of shoots. What were twiggy branches, bushes, shrubs are now thick with green. So many variations of green unfold from so many buds. Here we have more greens than words for “green.” Perhaps, like the Inuit with all their words for snow, the English →