Long Disused Poems

Incredible! Where could little girl of her age be going under this cold weather at this hour barefootedly and bareheadedly?What could have sent a poor girl she was to street with just oversized slippers she...

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Along the road called forestry, the silver ash weeps over me
as I meander 'round the dell and glade.
Pass scars of sand pits long disused, where gullies, washes speak ‘abused!’
Reclamation offers now a new facade.

Need for...

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Timothy had always been a man of laughing joy and conversation	


               -Friendship dialogue communication -


But now there was silence but for...

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Cuz existence among Homo sapiens 
extremely intolerable prospect
particularly sharing planet 
with most violent species
courtesy hoodlums wielding
deadly firearms methodically gun down
men, women and children
ratcheting grim milestone
countless dead civilians linkedin 
with hazards of war zone. 

Upon surrendering...

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she had put a band on her wrist

          in case she got lost on the journey

          ...

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The Disappearance 
It was a hot afternoon when a big bulk carrier left a harbour
 on the coast of Bengali bound for Sydney, Australia, with a cargo 
of scrap iron of ships that once had...

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Upon surrendering this self
hypnotized faux yes ("FAKE") Earthing,
I noticed nothing amiss
(which temporary state of transcendent bliss
twice daily meditation strives to attain),
ah...before you dismiss
a non "FAKE" claim lemme juiced

apprise ye with a very brief hiss
tour re:,...

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(an All Poetry feat to walk in 
the poetic feet of Robert Frost)

Bucolic New England, circa
Early twentieth century New England
awash with dynamic harmonic leisureliness,
when much of North America favored rustic

visual whirled wide webbed watercolor
waiting afield...

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survivors

The captain called up the harbor authorities needed a birth a ship no one had heard of, but its manifest stated Sydney-bound 
They let the ship birth on a disused pier far from the city...

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The rain began to fall like the tears rolling down her face.
Each day she opens her eyes, reality sets in place.
She puts on a smile and pretends to be brave
But inside are hugs of comfort...

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On the way to Porto for a week's holiday, we drove through a pine forest a man planted forest the way each 
stood at a respectful distance from each other
A year later in high summer,...

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I’ve come back to the place where I had grown,
a place no more as it once was known.
Not a roof, not a room, not one wall left,
just an old, weathered chimney standing alone.

An ill-tempered wind...

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The ship of ages
It was a hot afternoon when the big bulk carrier left a harbour
at the coast of Bengal bound for Sidney (Australia)
with a cargo of scrap iron from ships that once had ploughed
the...

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It resembles the London Underground inside my messed up mind 
With a network of confusion 
And Tracks that twist and Wind 

Tunnels full of darkness 
stations now disused 
I don’t know where I’m coming from...

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This factory has the bales delivered. Bales of unwanted, disused, thrown about, torn up, ripped and antiquated clothes. Once loved but not now. Bales measured by tonnes. Bales needing the forklift. Bales delivered once a...

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When the woollen industry died,
the reservoir that fed the old mill,
became disused.
The water meadow at its head
became a swamp.
Developers,
who want to build houses everywhere,
take one look at the quagmire,
sniff the stench fouled air, and walk...

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Left wing
Mother had tuberculosis and my sister, and I were
sent to a place, a children’s home with many houses 
depending on age and sex my brother had already been sent
to one he had found German...

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When the ancient goes wild 
Our hotel in Porto was at the highest point
although we had been promised a room downtown we
didn’t have to walk so far, s then I had paid in advance
across the street...

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By a rotted down shack 
Near an old railroad track,
The trains rattled past and sometimes came back;
There’s a thin plume of smoke
From the old chimney stack,
An underfed scar on a night painted black.

Hangs a dead...

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Life way back then when i was ten,
   From wartime days, to peace again.
   Few luxuries on ration books,
   Not even scraps for feeding ducks.
   But more...

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Early in the spring the variable winds and rains fall heavy on grass meadows,
Adding a spring in the turf, waking the mosses on stone walls and stone paths
Purple stems of woodspurge hang in the wet...

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Let's melt down all the plastics that will not biodegrade
and form some giant ice floes to replace the ones God made
so Polar bears will have somewhere to sit and sleep and stand
instead of getting persecuted...

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Spiderwebbed folds hang from each arm
as moss will from an aged cypress.
He sometimes raises haggard hands
as if he dreams of rising again,
or to cover bleary eyes.

The world is his mind.
Daylight a brief fluttering against closed...

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This is my story, my telling.
It was a Monday morning
in a time that never existed.
In a past that was fictional
until it was revealed as a plot
writing by a man-made ghost-writer,
nevertheless it became this yesterday,
this legend...

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I do not picture the brown-eyed sadness,
  Pools of hazel windblown on the heath,
Any more than I picture the days of childhood,
  Less than idyllic pastures spread beneath.

On some soft corner of a...

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