the sea is my ghost
Tired heavy eyes sieze each aching isle, such memoires you gave, halting our softest tears, trusting her. Enshrined, she exhumes aromas isolated since many years gone – hush of silence. Time the haunting ends, sister, end! Allow its stop – Masefield’s young gypsy hovering over slipping tide. Alice Williamson December 2013, Croatia Autumn is early
It seems to be autumn and I am here pyjamas, pen in hand a crossword below, apples above the air hinting at – smoke In the near distance a strimmer sings Closer, the phone of a neighbour To his gentle voice my dog sleeps heavy; deep in unknown dreams as the leaves rustle soft My brain calms – the safety of an English breeze * It seems to be autumn and I am here pyjamas, pen in hand Alice Mary Williamson 24th August 2020 |
AuthorAlice has done her best not to get in an aeroplane for the past twelve years, so she doesn't really fly. However her mother is from Croatia which sort of makes her Croatian, therefore faintly a 'cro'. Archives
August 2020
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