A poem written from the perspective of a woman enamored with Trump.
Letter for Joe Anderson The Futurist was loved but it was neglected so - acting in the knowledge that love isn’t concrete can’t strengthen walls or fix foundations left to crumble - you ripped it out. But I have to ask, do you look at Liverpool and see only bricks and water? Because it … Continue reading Poem – Letter for Joe Anderson
Beginnings and endings can make or break a short story. A bad opening line can lose a reader immediately, and a badly written ending can ruin an otherwise great piece.
'The bitterness lingers, nags at my palette/like a lump of words unspoken.'
I measure the road/ in distance you won't travel.
St Luke’s (When I was young, my nan, used to tell me ‘The church’ is the people, not the building.') Once each window was a work of art, every few feet a different story being told- parables pictured on stained glass, which, when the light shone through, blessed the aisles with colour. The building … Continue reading Poem – St Luke’s (Liverpool’s ‘Bombed out Church’)
'When you wake/to find your world/changed overnight/'
'...we wrote messages to God on paper leaves/'
Folie à Deux It was our place. Our secret world hidden in the trees. A world of dreams, where time seemed to stop for us where we could hide from judging eyes and feel free. We watched the real-world ripple on the breeze like it was another dimension drifting in and out of focus on … Continue reading Poem: Folie à Deux