No, I shall not for, in my clumsy verse, I have no magic to preserve your youth. Or mine. Although I guess I could do worse than search for similes, to tell the truth I don’t go much for ‘as’ and ‘like’. My rule is keep it simple, tell it straight and plain so here […]
PNWinter15
A summer’s day…
A summer’s day? In England? You’re prettier and softer. Rough winds shake the hawthorn And summer rental is all too short-term. Hot days get on your nerves: Look twice, your tan has disappeared. And even Juliet has to give you a reduction After she’s been a few rounds. But your face has durability: This document […]
Alteration (for Anne Hathaway)
I wonder, is it love that keeps me here Or habit, being only half alive Without your look and then not seeing clear What it can be that bends you from my eyes. I notice that you’ve noticed I’ve grown old And you admire my mind, but that is not Enough to rouse your passion, […]
Like As The Waves
Sandquoy Pier snorts like a seal, headbutts the Dorianda’s bows, nuzzles the place pebbles turn into sand. The Scollays levered her out of mudstone and old red. At mid-tide she’s decked in algae and kelp, still makes that arc. Says no to straight lines, is in love with her curve which says yes. Doesn’t flinch […]
Mr WH’s Reply
A summer’s day? Petal, that’s not me. Temperate I’m not, although I’ve got rough wind. My farts would fell a halitosic ox, and darling buds don’t stand a chance; don’t lease me summer – I prefer to buy. The eye of heaven I love (you never got to Tenerife), but yes, we do decline like […]
The Hillside
The hillside is the dog on my doorstep. The hillside is unshiftable as a sideboard – the great-grandmother’s antique I’m obliged to keep. The hillside wears a headdress of oak, open-branched – no-one argues with life-thickened arms like those. The hillside is serrated – nettle, dandelion, thistle, fern – a pot-luck pie of fans for […]