by phoenix | Sep 15, 2016 | Poetry
Long fingers and silver rings; that rhythm; that flight Of forefinger down a string; that tap of the fingertips Against the golpeador — one of your legs is crossed over The other and it all disappears but for the music. That slight frown on your brow as your fingers...
by phoenix | Sep 15, 2016 | Poetry
His mother painted it, in another life. It is small — less than half a metre across, not quite square. At first glance, it’s nothing but greys, as if it could be Some 19th century industrial cityscape or Soviet town, But closer in, you see touches of white and...
by phoenix | Sep 1, 2016 | Poetry
It goes without saying that spells of this kind generally require a kitten; At least one, more if there’s a storm brewing — the weather Is a fickle assistant. As to breed, well — the more docile specimens Tend to disrupt proceedings less. Location is your...
by phoenix | Jun 15, 2016 | Poetry
In storage, one cardboard box filled with photographs. I know one grey envelope contains: Peppy, full name Peppermint, Aged 2 or so, inspecting one minuscule ball of black kitten fluff, Two weeks old, soon to be Nemesis, by name if not by nature. In storage, seventeen...
by phoenix | Jun 1, 2016 | Uncategorized
A poem about me in which nothing is true She’s humble; speaks little. Mousy they call her, when they notice her. She’s happiest on her own. Never thinks twice, quite content. Quick to praise and no regrets. She tends her garden, diligent, and Basks in the slow...
