Category: Poetry
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The Old Man
This is one of the first poems I ever wrote. It’s one of very few from my teen years that I am still fond of. I sit and stare At the wrinkled man, His gnarled face And spindly arms Never move or sway. Not now. I try to talk To…
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House Opens at 19:00
I wrote this poem in response to the imminent return of live-theatre productions after months of closed doors. Shut doors. Shuttered windows. A crimson glow clings like my dreams To the walls of my second homes – A new red-light district in London: The West-end with a broken heart. The…
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