Like an alarm shrilly breaking into
dreams of grain plundered from the invaders,
dreams of full stomachs,
the quiet jangle, the bell of death
and my sister is gone
am I the last of my kind?
The old hiding places and havens
cursed
by perpetual day in fluorescent,
incandescent neon- cold and blazing.
Collared monster silences his bell
there is no refuge.
Species memory of walking in a garden,
safe in spinifex and shadows.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Sweeping Winds and Rainbow Beginnings
PoesíaThese are a few of my poems. I would prefer to take my time and try to sort the better ones out from the rubbish so it might take me a while to collect. I hope you can stop by and enjoy a poem or several. In poetry (good or bad) we express something...
