Poetry cont


POEM 2

Handwork

Through the papery translucent skin
webs of blue veins protrude,
on the left index finger a ring
held in place by crude

Elastoplast.  Clawed and ham-fisted
like branches of an ancient tree,
gnarled and twisted
wanting to be free

from pain.  Arthritic fingers unable to hold
relics and souvenirs,
defeated by damp, cold
and the passing of the years.



POEM 3

Gun Crime Statistic

The gun was cold,
and heavy in his hand,
a shackle
to the deeds he had done.

POEM 4

Spring

I sit by the bed
and watch
his shuddering chest
as he sleeps
oblivious to our grief
and the yellow daffodils

We chat about old times
happy memories
he sleeps on
oblivious to our voices
and the cuckoo's call.

POEM 5

Spring

The gnarled grey branch
seems dry, dead
but there at the end
a small sticky bud
quietly bursting
with the promise of
new life.


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