Fountain Pens
Sometimes the dead do write backlittle wisps of words
on the back of shopping lists,
a life noted, collated
figures neatly adding up
amidst peaches, not tinned
the dolphin friendly tuna,
balsamic for dipping,
those little loaves with almonds.
'Remember me' it says
'I like the chocolate with chilli'.
In between the cleaning fluid
and remembering to collect
those little faces
that peer through the kindergarten gates.
A meeting at 2.00
and how to lose yourself in memories
of thoughts long embalmed
compelling you to write,
Be a pen pal of sorts
SWALK written and played
On ukulele strings.
Oh the dead to write back
in the unstuck corner
of a postage stamp
spider marks on lists you lost,
ingredients of life not bought
priceless and pure.
Monsters in the mundane,
lemon juice in fountain pens.
Poetry by Elle
Read 1280 times
Editors' choice
Written on 2017-04-30 at 15:21
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Editorial Team |
Lawrence Beck |
josephus |
Christopher Fernie |
Ivan R |
ken d williams |
shells |
Texts |
by Elle Latest textsTwo Little CatsHills Not the End Cinders Oh perfect Day |
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