Poetry (79)

Hello Escritori,

Thank you so much for bearing with me after I just could NOT come up with any poetry last week. I hope that this helps illustrate why – and goes some way to making up for the wait. Here’s this week’s Sunday Poem.



I thought

When it was expected

That something had finally

Arrived to blow the malaise-ridden

Cobwebs of grey days away.

But no, it was just


And laughing at us.


We remain


Between sun and rain

Some atmospheric fluctuation

Makes it hard to sleep.

Our tempers are the mild grey

Of a pigeon’s fluttering breast.


We are patient from hardship

And conversant

In every dialect

That the rain can possess.

We note the sky’s caprice

With weariness as we perceive

Death, like a relative

Unwelcome or disowned

Walking out and collecting

Souls ever on loan.


The pain is great,

Though the visit is brief:

Death stays amongst us,

Repeat on repeat.

Following orders

Of advance and retreat

Known by his robes

Tinged the colour of grief.


(© Copyright Pola Negri 05/03/2017.)


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