Conceived in love’s folded wings: I sit and watch him from the next table – fair-haired and impish, he swings his sturdy little legs. “Don’t fidget, darling! You’ll fall off your chair…” The words should have come from my mouth.
He grins and makes a moue – much like you did. My heart is in a vice – aches for him. Some agonies are unendurable.
I finish my coffee, walk away, incomplete, on leaden legs, his giggles falling like stones in my stomach.
Greetings! I am, mentally, a forty year old octogenarian...Wife of a gem of a husband and mother of three beloved grown sons. I love life in all its forms, and happiest when studying art (eclectic) listening to music, being at one with nature, NOT singing (sounds like caterwauling...) appreciate other voices; while reading and - my passion - writing. Evacuee in WW11, half Welsh (mother). Hooked on writing and reading since I started school. Wrote modest school play and silly poems. In Adulthood had many articles,letters and poems published (several in anthologies) and ran a Poetry Club in the UK. Two factual books published in the 1980s. Since retirement to Spain, have had three more books published: a Memoir MY GENTLE WAR, as biographer HURRICANE HALSEY, and my first faction novel THE CATALYST. Two further books are almost ready to be published. I am a group leader for a Creative Writing class for the U3A in Torrevieja,Spain, and a member of WordPlay, having written many short stories for their anthologies. I have received a few prizes for my poetry and a first for a short story in Spain. Thank you for publishing my poem. Good luck with your site. Onwards and upwards...Best wishes Joy Lennick
Unthinkable. Lithograph of a malaise. I cannot talk. Will you abandon the thought and care about the drowning dawn? The bandaged ego of the book threatens the reader. Come and solve the puzzle of poetry. Everything was quiet except the
Within the imagination I am content to live This is my stay I see how plenty, how ever-expanding it is The ‘All’ a rich array Of ever-rotating colors with which to paint And never fade away This is my stay
I mawkishly effeminate sentiment, memories plucked from wood and field merged in a sentiment of unutterable sadness and compassion microscopic minuteness of eye, misgivings of grave kinds mockery crept into your tone, molded by the austere hand of adversity moments