Poem Category: Miscellaneous

Last puppy sold
their birth blankets burning
one by one.

Curtains open
just for these few hours
the moon joins our bed.

Sudden showers
watching my watercolours
run into a Picasso.

Crowded bus
the pink on her face
squeezing her doll’s shyness.

Bull-ant’s nest
a fallen fledgling
no mother comes to.

Attic sun
a paleness comes to the doll
each afternoon.

Dinner table
coming in with the dog
his sad hungry stares.

Entering dusk
a nun slips into
the priest’s confession.

Hospital bed
on my return from the tunnel
of enfolding white light.

Street worker
each shadow reaching
just where she walks.