When sun has set and flutters not a bird,
When all is still, all sleep, feathered and furred,
It echoes in my head your last harsh word,
Tossed out with thoughtless ease, such heartache stirred,
The death of hope I wish I’d never heard.
I wrote this second Fifty poem just to check that I could, and have just read Sarah’s poem. The rhyme words are almost exactly the same, but the results are very different.
Without a word you slip away from sight,
I yearn to follow, long for wings and flight,
But shadows fall in gardens filled with night.
You took your love away with evening’s light,
I watch the lonely sky with stars ignite.
A blog by Billy Mills
or a White Other or an Eastern European
Assembling the Jigsaw of a Febrile Imagination
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Inspiration, History, Imagination
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Stay Bloody Poetic
i think therefore i write
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Ein OIKOS[TM]-Projekt gegen Antisemitismus, Rassismus, Extremismus und Fremdenfeindlichkeit.
Mad woman from mediocrity, muses.
Canadian Zen Haiku canadien ISSN 1705-4508
Ramblings of an Irish ecologist and gardener
Poetry of a changing Earth. The grief is real--so is the hope.
Inspiring others through the written word, fictional blurbs & documenting my writing process from scratch.
occasional musings of an itinerant seanchaí polishing his craft online
The Things That Are In My Head.
offbeat words for you...
Just writing what's on my mind
AS HUMILDES OPINIÕES DE UMA MULHER DE CORAGEM QUE DIZ SIM À VIDA!
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