BACK IN BRISTOL

Two cities conquered.
Love will be my grave.
I started writing again.
He always used to say I should.

I can't wait to catch up with you all.

95% GO UNREPORTED::6.5% RESULT IN PROSECUTION

POETRYTHURSDAY±10

The Life of Fiction
by Thomas Lynch

Everything must, of course, advance the cause
of atmosphere or character or narrative:
the walk up the coast road, the sudden rain,
the stone shed at the sea's edge to shelter in,
the two of them waiting out the weather,
pressed into the corner, alone at last.
This is an old movie. It's Hollywood.
Each gets to tell the other everything –
old dreams and longings, slow regrets, how things
happen as they are supposed to happen,
or so they will console each other.
Of course, the usual embraces. They smile and weep.
They touch each others' faces wordlessly
then step out into the eventual sun,
each knowing what the other wanted known.
Or here's another possibility:
It doesn't rain. Or when it does,
a helpful pilgrim happens by and shouts,
"Hop in, you'll be perished, I'll get you home!"
And they get back safely, dry and comforted,
grateful for their dispensations. Life goes on.
The sea and the weather keep coming and going.

Good luck to everyone getting results today!

ASHORTINTRODUCTIONTOMYOBSESSIONWITHSHORTS

source

SUMMERSUMMERSUMMERO'CLOCK

source 1//source 2//source 3

POETRYTHURSDAY±9

Coloured

by an African child

When I born, I black.
When I grow up ,i black.
When I go in Sun, I black.
When I scared, I black.
When I sick, I black.
And when I die, Im still black.

And u white fella,
when u born, u pink.
When u grow up, u white.
When u go in sun, u red.
When u cold, u blue.
When u scared, u yellow.
When sick, u green.
And when u die, u gray……

And u calling ME coloured???