Here is why I don’t generally try to write poetry. 😀


The heart of darkness
hide in the clouds above
where swallows ever fly
too low and fast.

If you could see me
wander these winding streets
of cracked pavement stones
jutting out uneven.

I think you'd join me then
thinking of this Sweet England
of tempered souls of old
that crouch forever.

Not lifting their eyes above
to the swallows over the park
and the blue between the clouds
where the sun live.

The sun that once it shines
is the source of harsh complaint
of damage done to ivory skin
not of basking warm.

Sweet England you do me proud
never letting the ray of light
push the grey from the heart
and smile big.