Friendship (Remove filter)
Boulevard (For my son).
The boulevard of broken dreams begins at the end of a snicket, with a shop selling guilt and poverty. Where, mostly men, scratch thin blue lines from short thin blue pens in short hopes of riches. Few walk out with happy visage.
Next an unsmiling heavily built, overly sweaty Armenian take away managers’ tattered emporiam. He exploits youngsters for their honest toil with pennies and always needs ...
Wednesday 30th January 2019 7:10 pm
Stranger things
To discover a friend
Is so strange
The way of meeting
Is always rare
Minds in courtship
Feelings laid bare
Honesty given
Distrust is so easy
So how is it
Known
This friendship
What are the
Balances
That declare
A bond for
Someone
out there
A beautiful mind
I knew it for sure
When I heard
Of a flight
To mud compounds
And lost peo...
Wednesday 18th May 2016 7:47 pm
Recent Comments
Holden Moncrieff on Better Sight...
53 minutes ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on 'What can writers and poets possibly do in the age of Trump, Farage and Starmer?'
1 hour ago
Mike McPeek on Civilities
1 hour ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on EVEN THE OLIVES ARE BLEEDING
2 hours ago
John Marks on EVEN THE OLIVES ARE BLEEDING
3 hours ago
Hélène on Better Sight...
3 hours ago
Hélène on I SHAN’T ALWAYS BE LOVELY
3 hours ago
Nigel Astell on August 2025 Collage Poem: A Cut Above
4 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Where is THIS Jerusalem?
5 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on A Cut Above
5 hours ago