tanka (Remove filter)
No More Hellos
The phone rang again
She hesitated once more
To take the call now
Would prove that she is not strong
She knows well what he will say
She lets it ring on
Becoming deaf to its sound
As he did to her
Knowing she should not engage
So she lets it ring
Eventually
He will come to realize
What he had was not
The kind of love she needed
The phone rings, ...
Monday 16th September 2019 10:54 am
The Moors
Grey fog wisping 'round
Not a sound or sight to see
A slow envelope
Folding down upon the land
As night creeps into the moors
Tuesday 10th September 2019 9:10 pm
Recent Comments
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on EVEN THE OLIVES ARE BLEEDING
20 minutes ago
John Marks on EVEN THE OLIVES ARE BLEEDING
39 minutes ago
Hélène on Better Sight...
39 minutes ago
Hélène on I SHAN’T ALWAYS BE LOVELY
44 minutes ago
Nigel Astell on August 2025 Collage Poem: A Cut Above
2 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Where is THIS Jerusalem?
2 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on A Cut Above
3 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Haiku for 2025 [No. 31. Brussels Boycott]
3 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Civilities
5 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Stats (To be continued)
6 hours ago