there’s a
tourniquet
round the day …
lying under the pine
light on green
needles
threads of talk bind
me
wishing for company
in the leafy
playcentre
of another century
the memory of cable
drums
that children
climbed,
by the cubby houses
for riding time …
whole again,
roll again,
who has the key?
Hi Robert - I hope you don't mind - I used some of the lines from this poem in my post today - it's a cento called 'pine' and it uses lines from all the poems posted so far on 8 April. Cheers - Melinda
ReplyDeleteThat's fine Melinda - liked your cento too.
ReplyDelete