January 11th + 12th

writing cheap poetry

at the end of a weekend

head stuck in words


juggling stories

voicing adding verisimilitude

to an old favourite


plus all the corpses dressed in tartan


the bears, horses and witches

with all the old gods of hearth

and forest and frost

in deepest darkest, Russia


and so I travelled

in a sweat box

waiting for the cool change


dismayed when only showers

passed by quickly


I was only an acolyte

to showers and whirling clouds

and quick winds which blew away my cobwebs


still leaving the earth thirsty

my head buzzing with stories

and a pen limp in my hand




Copyright January 2020