My Father, Dreaming - by
The train glides through a world of frozen white,
/ low mists swirl and smudge the mirror of the Clyde,
/ Helensburgh stretches…
roofs
A Poem for a Morning - by
I had to get nearer the sky,
For the city was too full of rooms
And I can’t be content with a window.
Tin Roof - by
Wild harmattan winds whip you
/ but still you stay;
/ they spit dust all over your gleam
/ and twist your sharp cutting edges.
/ …