A Scrap Of Notes-Gone-By
In one ear ‘n out the other.
The Stag Upon The Brean Peninsula: Epilogue
I told her of the stag of memory; of th’earth; of private moments lived; of th’night.
The Stag Upon The Brean Peninsula: III
With gracile step, agilic poise, ‘n purity he’d leapt from th’dark off to my right-side.
The Stag Upon The Brean Peninsula: I
Lapped waves wash, broken-crested – I am young.
The Stag Upon The Brean Peninsula: Prologue
T’was o’er ‘n through this coastly scene we traced the tracks of mem’ry.
Another Poem
I write another poem for to reassure someone (Me?) that nothing will hinder.
Day 10
Small pilot boats ‘n ridden rafts threw cheers toward the hull, their voices smashing gladly ‘gainst the iron.
Day 9
A gull alit, a-lightly, on a length of timber as the timbre of its undulating call caused crashing waves of echoed sound to bridge the Avon. It preened at its grey-tinged feathers before pacing the abutment’s edge.
Day 8
The shimmershine of sweat shed through their painted, perfumed canvas caught the glist’ning glare of Horus ‘fore it soaked the linen veil that cloaked the contour-lines that led below their naveled peaks ‘n met between their thighs.
william altoft 