Dying Trying Sighing Crying Yes, you might risk dying, trying to; Not climbing gets sighing, crying blues. ~ an EWK Tyburn Poe’em ©2016 EWK (A Tyburn poem contains six verses of a 2:2:2:2:9:9 syllabic pattern. The first four lines rhyme…
Crisp, crushed, chaotic leaves, fallen. My steps taken, trodden. My feet; the mortar’s pestle, solemn. Kaleidoscope of abstract art, autumn. Nature’s unframed canvas; so infinite, calling. ~ an EWK ‘work-in-progress’ Poe’em ©2016 EWK
~ an EWK Photo Poe’em ©2016 EWK (inspired by a walk in nature)
crumbs of expression tossed along my narrowing paths. gobbled up like stale croutons fed to birds. birds burping on crusts dive off into their own wind. give me a caw, caw or as much as a chirp. on your way…
Memories of us and the walks we made. Hands held together as we forgave. Shadows had fallen from every tree. Stories held long within their leaves. Thoughts of times we often shared. Whom else I’d consider? I hadn’t dared. Heads…
crumbs of expression tossed along my narrowing paths. gobbled up like stale croutons fed to birds. birds burping on crusts dive off into their own wind. give me a caw, caw or as much as a chirp. on your way…