Eight line poems

 Through Windows


There was sometimes a telegraph pole,

Once I looked out and saw a shadow

of a huge owl sat against the darkening blue,

I only saw him as he took off suddenly.


Now there's trees, or cars, or sheep,

What to focus on; the tall lampposts,

Do we like to see the stars and comets

From attic window sky-lights. 


                         -



It's dark and we're pretending we're not home,

It's quiet but we're expecting trouble.

My superstitious heart wishes something,

But I sit and watch the gathering night,

Ignoring it's mumbling and

Remembering brightly lit faces,

Laughter and in the far away spaces of memory,

Simple happiness, just silliness and joy. 





The Thrum

  I listen to the thrumming of the wind These trees tell stories of a time, not so different for some, The climb is still as steep, Though t...