deepundergroundpoetry.com
Makes Jack a dull boy
A Blackbird taps for worms in the evening heat,
the garden colours fold quiet as a monastery,
shadows slowly take the grass a darker green,
the wrought iron seat sits empty without its queen.
Discussions sink to ipads and facebook screens,
I'm trapped importing images for a work-place play.
The dark has filled the drive to a house that's closed its eyes,
doors are not allowed to wake, softly held by guilty hands,
a touching paw and smiling tail soon returns to cornered curls.
I search by fridge light for dried up food that fits the mood,
a ghost inside a half full room that slides between cold sheets.
the garden colours fold quiet as a monastery,
shadows slowly take the grass a darker green,
the wrought iron seat sits empty without its queen.
Discussions sink to ipads and facebook screens,
I'm trapped importing images for a work-place play.
The dark has filled the drive to a house that's closed its eyes,
doors are not allowed to wake, softly held by guilty hands,
a touching paw and smiling tail soon returns to cornered curls.
I search by fridge light for dried up food that fits the mood,
a ghost inside a half full room that slides between cold sheets.
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