poetry diary

I rhyme to see myself, to set the darkness echoing. (Seamus Heaney, from Personal Helicon)

The end of the siege

Not the still-standing walls,
black and torn against the smoke-smudged hills;
nor exhausted men, most sleeping now with swords to hand
and helmets dark and dented –
none of these had failed him yet.

But when the cook left quietly before dawn,
the captain heard the postern squeak,
and knew it was over.


For Catherine, with much poetic license (and hoping any similarities between medieval warfare and modern business are mere fantasy!).

Posted on dVerse.

In the mountains

Desperate pine trees
cling to wrestling mountains as
continents collide.


On holiday walking in the Alps.