i dream of going home...and didn't rhyme pillock...


Vale of Mowbray

I was cushioned in the vale and yonder...
The hills rise holding the white scar.
I drop my eyes to some paper that
My teacher says I must look on...
Must chant numbers... in my case quietly.

Uncushioned, pining for the pins that pricked
Hems of mosses and leaves that wept their
Sweet cool caverns I eye a hillock.
I exhale a sweet breath knowing the gust
Of air is the sound of me turning enemy.






Poetry by jenks The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 632 times
Written on 2013-06-21 at 22:33

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text



There's a lovely and appealing freshness to "hems of mosses and leaves"!
2016-09-15