poem

Haiku: True or False

Posted on 6 Hours Ago by Leofwine Tanner

Photo by Abhiram Prakash on Pexels.com

Fake news all around
Nothing new under the sun
But what is the sun?

copyright Francis Barker 2019

Haiku: North

Posted on 1 Day Ago by Leofwine Tanner

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Staring at the north
where the sun will never reach
Fulcrom of the earth

copyright Francis Barker 2019

Poem: Back to the One

Posted on 2 Days Ago by Leofwine Tanner

women s white top and orange floral skirt

Photo by Samuel Silitonga on Pexels.com

You travel to earth’s extremities
while I plumb the greater depths of the mind

The world experience is merely that –
however far I go it all comes back to me

copyright Francis Barker 2019

Brexit, or no Brexit?

Posted on 3 Days Ago by Leofwine Tanner

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Brexit or no Brexit: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
the sins of outrageous politicians,
Or to pull the plug on that swamp of filth,
And by opposing drain it?

copyright Francis Barker 2019

Poem: Coffee Stains

Posted on 4 Days Ago by Leofwine Tanner

blank paper with pen and coffee cup on wood table

Photo by Kaboompics .com on Pexels.com

The coffee cup stains
don’t mean I’ve been working

The screwed up paper
doesn’t mean I’ve got no ideas

The smell of food cooking
means your meal’s on the table

Haiku: November Woes

Posted on 5 Days Ago by Leofwine Tanner

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Away November
You are death’s epitome
Harbinger of cold

Poem: The Old Shed

Posted on 5 Days Ago by Leofwine Tanner

gray shed on white and green field near trees during daytime

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Mercury Ascends

Art, Words, Astrology

Haiku: True or False

Fake news all around
Nothing new under the sun
But what is the sun?

Haiku: North

Staring at the north
where the sun will never reach
Fulcrom of the earth

Poem: Back to the One

You travel to earth’s extremities
while I plumb the greater depths of the mind

The world experience is merely that –
however far I go it all comes back to me

Brexit, or no Brexit?

Brexit or no Brexit: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
the sins of outrageous politicians,
Or to pull the plug on that swamp of filth,
And by opposing drain it?

Poem: Coffee Stains

The coffee cup stains
don’t mean I’ve been working

The screwed up paper
doesn’t mean I’ve got no ideas

The smell of food cooking
means your meal’s on the table

Haiku: November Woes

Away November
You are death’s epitome
Harbinger of cold

Poem: The Old Shed

In my head I still make the journey
to your shed, to quiver at those
huge summer spiders and smell

the creosote and guano, to wonder
at your tools all cleaned and
oiled, a hanging display of your mind.

But now through this filthy
fissured window,
the late butter sun gleams low – and look

there she is, bent over,
with the tin bath I bathed in as a boy. And
there’s our washing to take in

Fake news all around Nothing new under the sun But what is the sun?

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Staring at the north where the sun will never reach Fulcrom of the earth

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Like this:

You travel to earth’s extremities while I plumb the greater depths of the mind

The world experience is merely that – however far I go it all comes back to me

Rate this:

Share this:

Like this:

Brexit or no Brexit: that is the question: Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the sins of outrageous politicians, Or to pull the plug on that swamp of filth, And by opposing drain it?

Rate this:

Share this:

Like this:

The coffee cup stains don’t mean I’ve been working

The screwed up paper doesn’t mean I’ve got no ideas

The smell of food cooking means your meal’s on the table

Rate this:

Share this:

Like this:

Away November You are death’s epitome Harbinger of cold

Rate this:

Share this:

Like this:

In my head I still make the journey to your shed, to quiver at those huge summer spiders and smell

the creosote and guano, to wonder at your tools all cleaned and oiled, a hanging display of your mind.

But now through this filthy fissured window, the late butter sun gleams low – and look

there she is, bent over, with the tin bath I bathed in as a boy. And there’s our washing to take in

Rate this:

Share this:

Like this:

Fake news all around
Nothing new under the sun
But what is the sun?

Staring at the north
where the sun will never reach
Fulcrom of the earth

You travel to earth’s extremities
while I plumb the greater depths of the mind

The world experience is merely that –
however far I go it all comes back to me

Brexit or no Brexit: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
the sins of outrageous politicians,
Or to pull the plug on that swamp of filth,
And by opposing drain it?

The coffee cup stains
don’t mean I’ve been working

The screwed up paper
doesn’t mean I’ve got no ideas

The smell of food cooking
means your meal’s on the table

Away November
You are death’s epitome
Harbinger of cold

In my head I still make the journey
to your shed, to quiver at those
huge summer spiders and smell

the creosote and guano, to wonder
at your tools all cleaned and
oiled, a hanging display of your mind.

But now through this filthy
fissured window,
the late butter sun gleams low – and look

there she is, bent over,
with the tin bath I bathed in as a boy. And
there’s our washing to take in