Feb 2014
My Mum owns a load,
twenty-or-so globes
collected over decades,
bought in musty stores
you won’t find around here.
Frozen images, colours
congealed in glass bubbles,
one housing a red flower,
an old-as-me rose
unable to inhale.
Christmas presents
stuck onto shelves,
hugged by a duster
so an eyelash of sunshine
can reflect from their heads.
Home from class,
into the living-room
and see a bunch of *****,
scoops of rainbows
in the back cabinet.
twenty-or-so globes
collected over decades,
bought in musty stores
you won’t find around here.
Frozen images, colours
congealed in glass bubbles,
one housing a red flower,
an old-as-me rose
unable to inhale.
Christmas presents
stuck onto shelves,
hugged by a duster
so an eyelash of sunshine
can reflect from their heads.
Home from class,
into the living-room
and see a bunch of *****,
scoops of rainbows
in the back cabinet.
Written: February 2014.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time for my third-year university poetry class, and as such is likely to undergo slight changes within the next few weeks.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time for my third-year university poetry class, and as such is likely to undergo slight changes within the next few weeks.
