Brilliant as ever
away in midfield,
but frozen when
six yards from goal.
In writers' terms
they're suffering from
a form of strikers' block.
This is my contribution for today to Writers Island's NATIONAL POETRY's Free Writing Month.
The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
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What makes us suppose that only the living grieve? Now all but lost in this new and familiar world of tall, leaning-together buildings...