I can't remember when I didn't write poems but as I've got older, I find they spill into my head, often at inconvenient times of the morning! I use to write them on my way to work, hence the title of my blog, but now I've given up to go trekking around in a campervan with my husband. Plenty of time to reflect on the world, though I don't claim to understand it any better....
Stone A gust alive; a redwood dead Sleep softwood your peaceful breath A gust dies Stone in stillness; still, revealed From emptiness a gust begins, like water, carving the stone around A grain of sand, unknown, found Reach for the
The vertical thought had jumped on the moon without any qualms. Do you think, the dreams will sell to man these butterflies. The ants were waiting for the death of the lamb wandering in the neighbour’s field. O God, how
Little stone on the road, Why you’re always been ignored? Millions of people step you along, Is that the place you really belong? Little stone on the ground, What do you feel when someone kicks you around? I know you’re
Standing here at the crossroads I can’t help but to feel a little apprehensive About which path I should take but I just Can’t stand here after many mountains, valleys And rivers crossed. I guess it’s just a leap of