Archives: Poem Gallery

high moon
last train home
how my face looks looking out

high moon
the way the swan glides
up the river of light

high moon
she opens the chocolates
his gift for a lie

the high moon
and his whispers
loose in my hair

high moon
the faces of sunflowers
turned in a breeze

high moon
reading her letter
my cigarette’s glow

high moon
side by side
a sea-snake in the driftwood

high moon
a fog laying over
our strawberry beds

high moon
the bag-lady’s old pram
turning round the corner