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Sinew and bone to rough-hewn stone. A wooden cross or corpse still lost. In fields of gold and rivers, red, the sparkling water of forgotten dead. This is how the world has been, this is how the world will be. Born and die and born anon some with stories, but most just gone. #poem #poetry #grave #life #death #circleoflife #legacy
Sky of gulls
and whispered wind
and murmured soft
the crowded din
She said close your eyes
and tell me all
and I saw black, red
stars too far
and told her so
but she just smiled
and with her heart
A perspective on the end-game with Covid-19 from a less politicized viewpoint, without appealing too much to empathy.
A poem about living in a world of division and distrust.
Because I said so,
Just do what you’re told,
Ask too many questions
And you’re out of the fold.
Believe what you should,
It’s a matter of l
We are made of lines and shapes,
so easily connected.
And with a pencil we can make
our art form, undirected.
Shading lines and smudges,
is
I look at you, if you were floor,
then down on ground
would be my sky, and grounded
I would be no more.
Hope is a draught
that all of us drink
without reading labels,
so we actually think
“it must be possible
since I think it so”
but brains hav
There once was a woman,
Named Sara Harding.
In the year 20-something
her midlife was starting.
Her hair nearly gray
And her mind turned a