Without You
Through the mist the sun’s stocky and yellow;
there’s little traffic in the town.
Each veiled day floats past unrecognised, unremembered.
Yet travelling back to a deeper remembrance
the days whizzed along with us carelessly hurtling after.
But now an hour is an age, a day is an aeon.
The morning is only half-filled with words or work,
the afternoons mooch across the fields aimless as cows.
This day-long solitude is the tariff paid for temporary closeness.
John Rice
Please note that the poems are copyright John Rice 2014 and cannot be reproduced without the express permission of the author.
Random Poetry!
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Cruel Is The Mother
Cruel is the mother whose hands rip and rupture the earthCruel is the mother whose gaze freezes water
Cruel is the mother whose breath blows down forests
Cruel is the mother whose tears are torrents flooding the lands
Cruel is the mother whose mouth spits fire into the air
Cruel is the mother whose footsteps flatten mountains
Cruel is the mother whose great arms create great waves
Cruel is the Mother, that Mother of Nature.
John Rice
The author encourages parents, teachers and librarians to read the poems to children and young people. However, the poems are copyright John Rice 2014 and cannot be reproduced without the express permission of the author.
