Tuesday, October 4, 2011


It’s a little like reading poetry,

this presumptuous feeling

as I drift surreally

on the arms of the autumn wind

with nothing to restrain my mind

relying fully

on a few gaudy synthetic bubbles

and poetry

to carry me over

a world of dwarfed troubles,

a canopy of roof-tops

of pasture and sea

sprawled in a patch-work quilt

far, far beneath me

It’s so quiet here….


Where’ my hat?




Janet Martin

No comments:

Post a Comment

Thank you for your visit to this porch. I'd love to hear if or how this post/poem touched you!