Monthly Archives: August 2015

Grimacing in the Rain

The rain today Seems unrelenting The sky a murky off-white…complete But the car park Is almost busy I watch the shoppers The mums and dads With their trollies and One-handed bags Tiny-tots with little legs Grimacing in the rain So … Continue reading

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Words Melt…

The routine broken The minutes now… unlimited The days ahead Await Like an artist’s canvas The hours melt Like summer butter As I linger with apprehension Waiting for the imagination To engage To whisper a story Buried Screaming to be … Continue reading

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Tossing Leaves

An August afternoon it’s late A strong breeze soliciting Mischief Shaking trees Tossing leaves Cotton clouds behave In a reckless fashion I hold my breath A thought wrestles With a memory In the archives of My mind There are renegades … Continue reading

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The Picture of Youth

I watch discreetly The pale young girl In the opposite seat I’m curious… So is she As she scans the other Seats Talking heads Smiling faces Subtlety, behind the pale Mask In a moment’s glimpse I notice her soft eyes … Continue reading

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Begins…

The smell of fresh-cut Grass Carried on the breeze Overwhelms the air Swiss rolls of sand-coloured Hay Lie still… Like bodies in field After field Just waiting… While the ground slowly Turns to green As the autumn months Unfold The … Continue reading

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Poetry with a Cappuccino

The waitress arrives Places a cappuccino On the table Then smiles A poetry book sits Waiting for the first sip Two sets of lips Eager to engage To taste, to feel A stolen moment In an otherwise Ordinary morning Thatcher … Continue reading

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This Room Sits

The room with a view Architecture and politics Looks down Upon the minions of a city Now, the noise has gone Except, for the dripping Tap That soft inflection …voices Drinkers after work This room sits Innocent But a witness … Continue reading

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Familiarity

The loneliness… of familiarity Is like isolation… in a crowd Thatcher Doran

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Sometimes Delicate

Thoughts or memories At times, it’s hard to tell Filter through my mind Like shoals of fish Dart and twitch Then change direction A subtle undertone An invisible reason Sometimes delicate But always There… Thatcher Doran

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Still Pouting

The words of poets Drift through Time Occupy a space In the lives of mortals Or linger too long On dusty shelves Forgotten or ignored Their paper lips Still pouting… Still eager to be explored Their silent knowledge Now hidden … Continue reading

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