Liberté, Égalité, Humanité
unlit stone alcove
sheltered from noise of traffic
aligned with concrete
a man lies down for the night
organic heap on city street
~
n.b. “…but everywhere, it’s the same.” Some cities have more obvious housing problems than others.
CLP 22/03/2023
relief as dusk falls
own bed awaits traveller
dreams will transport him
~
CLP 22/02/2023
don't know about you
I have some work tomorrow
moon slides into bed
~
CLP 02/12/2022
when would suit you best?
no time like the present, but
not on a school night
~
n.b. Time is tight, but there are limits.
sleep would be welcome
but you come round here again
pulling at my sheets
~
n.b. Coincidence, or cyclical?
CLP 08/11/2022
dreaming of sleeping
interrupted by sleep's dreams
awake through nightmares
~
n.b. Terrorism for terrorism’s sake. Moscow’s War on Peace consists undercover of darkness.
CLP 16/10/2022
stretching across paths
shadows mark summer's decline
extra bed covers
~
n.b. It’s definitely cooler in the evening, but still praying for rain.
CLP 28/08/2022
Now you're here, I'll sleep
Safe at home, warm in my bed
I've really missed you
~
CLP. 18/06/2022
unseasonable warmth
petite clouds
white buds pinned to infinite blue
fine grass blades grass by the millpond
prick my pale winter skin
my flat weight crumples daisies
in cool shade
of the willow’s weeping
tumble of the waterwheel
low hum of bumble bees
chiffchaff
chiffchaff
chiffchaff
with eyes closed I see all
the birds I hear
from within this sonorous wall
soft notes
a woman’s song
so tired
so tired
so tired
my head so heavy it cannot turn
my eyelids stuck down by pinks and blues
my arms so heavy they will not move
my legs feel bound they cannot run
my voice clasped tight within my throat
I hear her singing
she sings of lilac
yet to bloom
she sings of lambs
not yet sprung
she sings of hedgerows
nestlings yet to fledge
she sings of the stream
yet to flood
she sings of oak
still to leaf
she sings of the summer
yet to burn
she sings of two lovers
yet to meet
she sings of harvest
we’ve yet to reap
she sings of apples
we’ll collect
she sings of mists
that will rise from dew
she sings of the plough
that will tear the earth
she sings of crows
that will draw in the night
she sings of frost
that will veil the soil
she sings of the fireplace
as autumn leaves
so tired
so tired
so tired
slowly I wake
remembering
how far I must go
before I finally reach
my home
~
n.b. NaPoWriMo 2022 Day Twenty-five prompt: write an aisling.
CLP 25/04/2022
one of those long nights
eagle owl drifts through city
alarm brings respite
~
n.b. At last, the blessed relief of the Angelus bell.
CLP 31/03/2022
Voyage des Mots 