I’m often prone to outbursts of poetry. I really should learn how to write it.
Physical interaction is hard to come by these days so I have resorted to touching boobs in books in Public Libraries, I am so ashamed of the print quality.
©D.Archer July 2017 (the words and finger, not the picture)
At the bottom of Pandora’s box
I found an I.O.U.
© D. Archer . June 2015
In hindsight it may not have been such a good idea to read a selection of Sylvia Path before going to bed. It is very very unusual for me to dream or in fact to wake up with any thoughts in my head. This morning I woke up to the sound of rain.
I like rain.
On laboured nights such as these
life is a slow death,
memories and lies entwined
like leaves that fall
in ones and fours
to cover and colour my unkempt mind
where even the small memories are fading
so I set them free to a listless wind;
I have no use for them any more,
I care not which rise and fall
for we will all be but memories in the end
befouled by some, all by time,
on laboured days such as these
life is a slow death
and I stand loveless in its shadow,
forgotten, whilst still alive.
© D. Archer. August 2013.