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John Edward Smallshaw
Poems
Jun 2016
Shorts on a donkey.
fingers sliding lazily over a summer's day
hazily remembered now,
notes that slid over my skin
that music got into and took me away.
Watching the river run down to the bay,
the dipping of terns and us
taking turns to dip our feet
was our way to deal with the heat
but the fingers kept sliding
riding the beat
tapping a semaphore on
a blank sheet.
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw
68/Here and now
(68/Here and now)
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Elizabeth Squires
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