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The light through the blind is a poem,
the way it illuminates air.
And the shadows that fall
on the floor and the wall
are signs that a poem is there.
The playground is built on top of a graveyard.
Press your ear to the tarmac and you'll hear the undead
scratching on their coffin lids.
His name is called and there's a pause
just long enough to halt a war
tame timber wolves and trim their claws
hide diamonds in a secret drawer
Each night I pull threads of birds
shake them loose; unpick the skies
dappled husks of thrush and wren
mulberry silk from blackbird eyes
There’s something of the rich tea biscuits dipped
in a sugary brew,
From the inside it warms you up.
Something of the feeling ever so welcome
When Dylan’s mom says,
Change was specially written for National Poetry Day 2018
Change is always happening
It’s a fact my friend, it’s like fads and trends
Nell drives and we don’t speak.
Every limb is numb
My mind is racing
and then slow.
Time travel me back.
Let me say goodbye again.
A minute more,
a chance to see Ed’s face
Kids in camouflage sprint and stumble through smoke,
their faces smeared with blood and dirt.
It’s a burnt-out city with kids tearing into enemy lines,