Another Blank Page
Another blank page
But this one is different
A past full of rage
A future indifferent
Released from the cage
Into sunlight, blinking
Turning a page
No more poison drinking
Historic toxicity
Of
Jon Collins
Word weaver, song singer, pattern whisperer, baker and candlestick maker.
Always Places
Always places, never faces
Although the words align
Dreams of journeys, of passengers
But the trip begets the theme:
People - messengers, subordinated
Familiar yet understated.
And so it seems, the spaces hold:
Arched
The Shape Of Things
The Shape Of Things
The shape of things isn't always
What it seems, on the surface
A thin veneer, obscuring
That what appears as form
Is but normalised belief
A superfice
Morning breaks
Morning breaks,
The dewy landscape damp
Woodland floor nondescript
Against the dank debris
Of last year’s beech leaves
Strewn across now-muddied ground
Sun takes its first steps
Peering o’er the
No Snow Poetry
No snow poetry
I have nothing, I’m afraid
Beyond the white peace