Poems

Scribble Series #9-Writers’ Block

His blog posts became infrequent. The latest draft wasn’t touched up for a month.  Storey after storey, the high-rise completely covered the orphanage and the adjacent park from his view.

The builders successfully created a permanent writers’ block for the paralysed poet.

 

Time of Cold

Dead leaves now cover the place,

Where their shadows once fell,

A grim ceremony marked,

By echoes of an unseen knell.

A temporal shroud of greyness, 
Thrown over balding heads.

A metallic coldness of doorknobs,
Clear vision which steadily fades.

Air like a hundred needles,
A reptile huddled up beneath some momentary warmth.
Dead trees burn in happy homes,
Stories woven around the red-brick hearth.

All disperse as night falls fast,
A web of frosts glistens on trees,
Black rocks wait for the morning light,
However weak, the sun at last.

I Wish I Knew…

I wish I knew you,

A little more than I already do,

I wish I knew you,

Enough to ask a question or two.

I wish I knew how,

You frown at the morning light,

I wish I knew whether,

You stargaze at night.

I wish I knew what,

Colour roses you like,

Or tulips, or daisies,

Or a night-long hike.

I wish I knew where,

And how to find you,

I wish I knew if,

You would love me too.