Three O’s at eight o’clock each night
echo about the red brick walls
with the ghost of a love that comes
haunting with a buried hand squeezed tight.
Three O’s at eight o’clock each night
echo about the red brick walls
with the ghost of a love that comes
haunting with a buried hand squeezed tight.
The lambs have gone from fields today.
My first visit to the regular Words and Ears event held at The Swan in Bradford on Avon proved to be a treat on Thursday 28th December. Hosted by Dawn … Continue reading Words and Ears
Discovering Bukowski recently. I thought I would share The Twins with you – read by the poet himself. It’s a poem that made me smile.
(source: rarestimp)
up the hill toward the fields.
a man and a boy and a plane.
what does my son carry today?
Concrete sheep
On roundabout green
Donning Santa hats.
Approaching cars fill with laughter,
Children in the back seats lean and point,
“Mummy, Daddy, look at the shee—”
BANG!