Saturday, May 04, 2013

Prompts for Sunday

The children are building gallows

He left his Raleigh chained to railings

They went there optimistic; they came back old

We all have her to thank

She lived with three bastards in the shadow of a quarry

Now we need someone to hang

There were marks on his cheek, a cut to his nose


The stillness came in

In the night sky above the moor

A room full of plastic bags

We take off our shoes and bow

Losing 1-0 at half-time

I live in a tiny, tiny house

I suppose this is sex, only quieter

My boy wears a German helmet and likes to march

She inhales and keeps it in

I write this knowing of tomorrow

Fed, bathed, zipped up and lullabied

I've thought about living at the dump

I met a group of natives who laughed when they were sad

After the flood

Seven days is almost a week

It was the first time he had ever thought of her like that

In some wilderness; a broken world

Carol, you are late

No comments: