by phillipw | Sep 8, 2019 | BR
British Library Numbers He looks like somebody’s nephew-in-law, Not any closer to you or yours than That, yet with darkness round the eyes as raw As black eyes on an angel who began In twelve-foundational Heaven but falls now Through wounded space towards Dante’s...
by phillipw | Sep 8, 2019 | AU
Her Lips In early autumn maples start to take On colors of the pyre, abandon green, Hold out their limbs like Cranmer at the stake, Their frantic gestures searching for a sheen More desperate than innocence. A breath Of chilly breezes mixes with the sun, Prepares...
by phillipw | Sep 8, 2019 | AU
October Maples, Slough How tepid autumn is when rain and gray Embrace it with their girzzled arms. Their hands Contaminate the fall, tarnish the gay Leaves, yellow and orange, make them into glands Secreting disappointment, suppressing Fervent suicide with hormones...
by phillipw | Sep 8, 2019 | Y
Greek Youthful Skin Bland of figure, hair and face, she keys in Stuff, into her Apple Mac. Thick-lipped, she Wears Schubert’s glasses. How would one begin To list her hidden charms? Normality? No, that’s no glitzier than the slightly Gray white plastic...
by phillipw | Sep 8, 2019 | BE
If Only it were True that Perfect Face If only it were true that perfect face And fetching body contours equaled good, That exquisite eyelashes meant true grace Of character—and dual dimples could Be parallel with rectitude of soul, That lips demanding urgent kisses...
