Poetry
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The Hour of the Wolf
The cock was sleeping soundlyFor it was not yet the break of dawnAnd so it did not noticeThe sprinklers going off on the lawn The streets were sleeping soundlySave a lonely streaking vanNothing much was around at the timeExcept the man who ran The sands were not warmThey don’t hold for too longThough some clung to the solesSinging a soft wet song The sea was coldAnd quiet as deathNo waves broke the soundOf the man who caught his breath Blurred was his visionAs sweat poured down his faceBut rest he could notLest he miss his pace So ran the man with a planInto the distant darkNo lights lit up his…
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Ice-Cream
A Poem on Innocence
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Crosshairs
Thoughts swirled aroundIn my mindAnd where they were boundNone too kind Headlong into the darkWas it a street of grey?I did not see the parkFor it was but a prey I searched for a lightWith my roving eyeFor to seek without sightWhat a fool was I The metal hit the gravelAnd leather hit the tarWounded by the shrapnelI longed for a cigar A hand reached outAnd the flames dancedWithout a flicker of doubtMy palm had chanced A flash of bright whiteUnder the violent nightThe bullet was triteFor the sniper had been sniped.
