Saturday, July 23, 2016

A Poem by Phil Wood


After He Leaves for Walk

She closes the blinds.  Her mind's in grass
that's ankle deep, in need of sleep--
a goodbye wave unwraps the quiet,
replays those easy times beyond

the knotted ground where standing on
the creaking bridge they'd play with sticks
their childhood game.  His twisted twig
spinning towards a sandy bank

and comes to rest; hers skips
a crop of rock--its slender wood,
so sleek and dark, gliding the stream
to deeper pools as spiders thread

silence beneath the shade of pine.
All happiness is hoarded in webs.



Phil Wood works in a statistics office.  He enjoys working with numbers and words.  His writing can be found in various publications:  Sein und Werden, The Centrifugal Eye, Message in a Bottle, Streetcake Magazine, London Grip, The Open Mouse, Ink Sweat and Tears, The Angry Manifesto, Poet and Geek, The Stare's Nest, The Lampeter Review, The Screech Owl, The Recusant, DM du Jour, Three Drops from a Cauldron, Clear Poetry, The Fat Damsel, Dactylzine, Autumn Sky Poetry, Jellyfish Whispers, Noon Journal of the Short Poem.




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