I uncurl from the ball get out of bed and totter off down the hall into the kitchen in which in I look for something but I forgot to jot that something down Now I look and feel just like a clown. no laughter after all I could have stayed in bed curled in a…
Category Archives: Wrinkled poetry
The deep
Times I have lent, borrowed and spent are all bent around an old man’s little finger. I linger on long, long after the audience has gone, reviewing the past until at last I am satisfied. Wide of the mark I may have been in the city of fallen though I have seen the future and…
Wrinkled poetry
Now I’m old enough to draw me old age pension not to mention a seat nearer the fire and ‘er indoors will get me full attention except on a Saturday when Fulham’s at home. She has never let me down she’s always been there, a smile on her face where on mine was a frown,…
