deepundergroundpoetry.com
shorts from Lady Bracknell's Handbag
The Haunted Doll House
She screwed her eyes into
The corners of the empty nursery,
Recalling the rag doll &
Silver pair of scissors.
Horses
For those of us left behind,
We slept water in dusk cradles.
Felt the sea bubble in the foals’ lungs
When we breathed into their mouth.
The Lion, the Witch & the IKEA Wardrobe
Struggling with the lock and dark,
Lucy realised way too late,
She was in the wrong wardrobe.
Statuesque in Suburbia
In the summer of rain and batik skies
Barefoot and soaking wet,
He came by moonlight once again.
Only in August would he come;
The marble stand whereupon he stood,
Remained empty for one night.
She screwed her eyes into
The corners of the empty nursery,
Recalling the rag doll &
Silver pair of scissors.
Horses
For those of us left behind,
We slept water in dusk cradles.
Felt the sea bubble in the foals’ lungs
When we breathed into their mouth.
The Lion, the Witch & the IKEA Wardrobe
Struggling with the lock and dark,
Lucy realised way too late,
She was in the wrong wardrobe.
Statuesque in Suburbia
In the summer of rain and batik skies
Barefoot and soaking wet,
He came by moonlight once again.
Only in August would he come;
The marble stand whereupon he stood,
Remained empty for one night.
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