Sunday, 6 September 2015

A Poem a Day (53): Sing


Some people sing –

It’s a sentiment I crave

Like the desolate moon

Drip-dry of felt.

These waves run to black

As I weave this rolling pattern

Shimmering to the fore

Where we forget this,

The rhythm of the day

The luster of the sky,


A purse lined with nothing,

Scabbed knees praying low

While the blackbird sings

To waken the dead silence

Seeping in a spiral of stars,

Edging into the mind

Where everyone forgot

How to.

copyright Vickie Johnstone