Little paths Wind up the hillside Traced in the grass by little feet Guided darkly By aromatic pathways The colour… Read more Little paths
Tag: poet
Lockdown (but this is my home)
This is my home Where I sit in silence and let the world float by on black rivers of bitumen… Read more Lockdown (but this is my home)
Dust in the mouth
Patchwork pillows float On pillars of light As the morning shimmers Through wine bottle glass Frosted with dew Damp on… Read more Dust in the mouth
The arborist’s first grandchild (one in, one out)
Small shite it grows in the light a forest of green in a bucket of skyfe twisting onward and upward… Read more The arborist’s first grandchild (one in, one out)
Fences
Stitches seep across burnt skinwounds that weep ounce sewing pinssinew shapes turn sutured tracksalong yellow shoulders, down purple back Green… Read more Fences
Tighearnan John Kelly 