60/M/croydon Time out contemplation, with nature and relationships. A whiff of everyday political concerns.
Sylvia Plath is my favorite female poet.
Georg Trakl is my favorite male poet. 152 followers / 19.1k words
Raindrops falling on the windowsill A lone man standing in front he's got not much to offer Jack frost on the tin roof Old Man blags his finer days Alley cat roaming the other way Hot shot comparsions sometimes soon is about to happen
The note said loves a nest, there's this incessant need, rising in your dreams, the art of listening to your heart, crying in your depths Pigeon man, garnish your love, and then he vanished, like a stone into the world torching the night.
In April somewhere where sunbeams and Carousels glisten. He was happy to share in the clover. The sun was pouring by way of a morning breeze, and his plate was full belly up he floated, in the shallow water, where the moon wanders. His dreams lay sheltered, against the cove in the body of another.
I want to be lazy down to my shoestraps, see the jackdaw scrounge my sweetpeas. If you cast a spell in my direction I'll be surprised. Each night I dream the nectar of sleep and by sunrise I'm trice arised