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.