Jean L. Kreiling: Musicians of Spain

i. The Dulcimer Player (Toledo)   The tune, unknown to me, must have been old— its phrases answering each other neatly, its contours those o...

You had forgotten that you don’t love me anymore.

Without You
Francine Witte

#Poetry #FrancineWitte #WithoutYou #PoemAlone

https://poemalone.blogspot.com/2025/05/francine-witte-without-you.html

Francine Witte: Without You

I drone through the day, bee-like, automatic. The circuit of movement – alarm clock, cornflakes, bus. Once on, I take a seat, and the man ne...

Angela Topping: Enamelled Boxes

for Pascale Petit Harold Raby Collection, Manchester City Art Gallery   Unlike eggs, their treasure, is not within. These are inside out. Lo...

J.R. Solonche: Self-Portrait with Seventeen Hands

I am standing in the middle. On my right is my wife. My hand is on her waist. On my left is my daughter. My hand is on her shoulder. I am ho...

Enda Doyle: Baristas Always Break Your Heart

Dragged through the ivory gates into a heavy jacket October morning sleep-eyed and semi-sentient I Karloff shamble into the city centre. Onc...

Peter Adair: Mr Casey

sways over me in the doorway. Come in, little man, come in ,  he says, and tousles my hair.  The sun licks his stubbly face, music slithers ...

Nick Browne: The Road to Ethiopia

i. Each day at nursery you’d cling, an angry monkey scarfed around my neck. Detached with kindness from my arms, I’d hover in the vestibule ...

Michael Durack: Keepers

The grass doesn’t even grow where he stands on the pitch. - Brazilian proverb. In the schoolyard an afterthought,  last one standing after t...