poem - hooksforeverything

hooksforeverything

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poem

A collection of 5 posts

across the bus

There's a girl across the bus and all I can see is yellow sleeves, white hands and a pound of silver rings Are they the rings you put on every day, I don't ask, or do you choose the mood from a dish of a dozen

my indulgences are earth, now

it's spring again and the plum blossom is dropping messy metaphors all over my walk. I am at least a year older than I was this time last year and possibly more. my indulgences are earth, now time spent away from my desk time spent more answering time

spring Featured

a sonnet on capital, because why not

I'm far too old to say I don't fit in. I pay for music, have a favourite knife; I clean the shower tray and change the bin on Sunday nights - a regulated life. I'm far too rich to say I don't

Elders, by Louise Bogan

At night the moon shakes the bright dice of the water; And the elders, their flower light as broken snow upon the bush, Repeat the circle of the moon. Within the month Black fruit breaks from the white flower. The black-wheeled berries turn Weighing the boughs over the road. There

Amoretti LXII: "The weary yeare his race now having run"

BY EDMUND SPENSER The weary yeare his race now having run, The new begins his compast course anew: With shew of morning mylde he hath begun, Betokening peace and plenty to ensew. So let us, which this chaunge of weather vew, Chaunge eeke our mynds and former lives amend, The