Poems
Sunday Song
The ding dong’s over, I’ve had crumpets and I feel in clover. This week I did the things I had to do leaving not much to chew. The sun is shining but it’s cold outside, I have a healthy sense of pride, not overweening sin, I hope, that might be censured by the Pope,...
Elegy upon a Glove
Few things are sadder than a single glove lost by a stranger who was once right here, though surely not a stranger lost to love. Sometimes you see them on a rail, that’s queer, left there for their reciprocating pair.
Donne Rhymin’
John Donne was bitten by God’s flea, which sucked his blood and set him free.
Indisposed
Been sleeping in my filth for days, a shower too shaky to assay. Yet hard to quantify the form my malady has taken, sleep of course, but also, lassitude and great remorse. The central conundrum of my life has left me leaning on the ginger wine and the port, I even...