mental health (Remove filter)
Bottling
He digs and drills so deep
that foundations may well crumble
Bottles himself away in lonely
lines of ribbed blue glass
upon some lop-sided shelf
The handwritten label, applied
and slid square with the rest of the world
The contents sealed in
wax from the neck down to do their time
Do not operate the machinery
Please comply with dos...
Wednesday 15th May 2013 10:23 pm
Recent Comments
Nigel Astell on August 2025 Collage Poem: A Cut Above
3 hours ago
John Coopey on I SHAN’T ALWAYS BE LOVELY
5 hours ago
John F Keane on August 2025 Collage Poem: A Cut Above
6 hours ago
John F Keane on A Cut Above
7 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on I SHAN’T ALWAYS BE LOVELY
9 hours ago
Mike McPeek on Fallen Leaf
13 hours ago
Graham Sherwood on The Forgotten
14 hours ago
Rolph David on Sonnet: Imigh Hotovely, Imigh Smál Damnaithe! Imigh is Póg mo Thóin! [Out Hotovely, Out Damned Spot! Out and Kiss my Arse!]
15 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on His Majesty’s Stay Out of Hell Cards: “Divine Right” and “Convention”
16 hours ago
Hélène on Elementary
16 hours ago