Poetry: Tuesday 7th July 2020

Swallows passing
in the morning.

Heart of
soft rain.

A street,
over the stile.

Butterfly spots,
large, grey clouds.

The afternoon
a long curve.

Blackberries poke,
dust and rain.

Two pale horses
in the shade.



The wind’s

A door
in the stream.

the poppies’
morning song.

Voices sail
with the birds.
Time waits
for his bill.

The long grass
has gone and come
in rain and scent.

A baby is here,
who wrestled with the night.

In the garden,
flower, leaf
stirring breeze.

On one side we walk
by thicket and stream.

On the other side,
the garden,
the buzzard,
the lake of geese.

Hold baby
who belongs to both.

In the old pines
where squirrels play,
we will count leaves.

In the library
we will remember
dreams at sea.

At the lake of geese,

children throwing seeds
at the setting sun.

Old park walls,
crossing paths,
forgotten doors.

Moonlit swan,
the fountain sound.

These are the songs,
the poppies sang.


Author: Workers' Archive

Covering sensitivity at work and beyond on my website: https://samuelaliblog.wordpress.com/

One thought on “Poetry: Tuesday 7th July 2020”

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