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Stu Peskett Poetry

January 6, 2015. Watching, the brush strokes of the painter. On this empty, elegant canvas. A broad sweep of the brush,. Then another and another. Grass, Gorse, heather,. And that perfectly autumnal brown- bracken. For summer’s gone, and the moor breathes out. Relaxing luxuriously, just like. The fanning dripping ferns,. And almost luminous green lichen. Of the hidden woods, in the secret valleys. Ancient gnarled bowed silver birch, surviving almost anywhere. Firstly sketching the bare bones. On a furthe...

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Stu Peskett Poetry | stupeskett.wordpress.com Reviews

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January 6, 2015. Watching, the brush strokes of the painter. On this empty, elegant canvas. A broad sweep of the brush,. Then another and another. Grass, Gorse, heather,. And that perfectly autumnal brown- bracken. For summer’s gone, and the moor breathes out. Relaxing luxuriously, just like. The fanning dripping ferns,. And almost luminous green lichen. Of the hidden woods, in the secret valleys. Ancient gnarled bowed silver birch, surviving almost anywhere. Firstly sketching the bare bones. On a furthe...

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Stu Peskett Poetry | stupeskett.wordpress.com Reviews

https://stupeskett.wordpress.com

January 6, 2015. Watching, the brush strokes of the painter. On this empty, elegant canvas. A broad sweep of the brush,. Then another and another. Grass, Gorse, heather,. And that perfectly autumnal brown- bracken. For summer’s gone, and the moor breathes out. Relaxing luxuriously, just like. The fanning dripping ferns,. And almost luminous green lichen. Of the hidden woods, in the secret valleys. Ancient gnarled bowed silver birch, surviving almost anywhere. Firstly sketching the bare bones. On a furthe...

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stupeskett.wordpress.com

1

Stu Peskett Poetry | Page 2

https://stupeskett.wordpress.com/page/2

December 9, 2014. Fluffy and white, they. Glide from the tongue and. Hang in the air. From ear to ear. Speeding up, slamming down. A rending scream tearing the air, from. That lipsticked bomb- bay door. Lazer guided, homing in. To the page, and settling neatly. Onto the paper. Ink drying,. December 9, 2014. What trickery is this? Between the waves roar. And the tides race. Loudly in mind, yet. Thinner than this mist. Here and there,. Time disjoins.shrinks.stretches…. Whorls of sea weed, patterned. The ga...

2

Avon Beach. | Stu Peskett Poetry

https://stupeskett.wordpress.com/2014/12/10/avon-beach

December 10, 2014. Floatsam on the shore. Where you loved to walk. Your skin ghostly white. As the sea gently laps. On new years morning. Are you now a ghost. Still walking this beach? Your heart still slowly breaking. Over the years like. These waves breaking over you now. Water’s emotional content. You said your piece. You spoke your truth. As to never want to wake. From him, the controller who. Sucked the air from your soul. And the blood dry from your skin. And chased you from the earth.

3

About | Stu Peskett Poetry

https://stupeskett.wordpress.com/about

Christchurch, Dorset. U.K. Poet , photographer and lover of mountains and the Sea. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public). You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Google account. ( Log Out. Notify me of new comments via email.

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Drones. | Stu Peskett Poetry

https://stupeskett.wordpress.com/2014/12/10/drones

December 10, 2014. To do and not be done to. As they go along. Checking all the time. Hammering the jigsaw into place. This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public). You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out. Blog at WordPress.com.

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Lines. | Stu Peskett Poetry

https://stupeskett.wordpress.com/2014/12/11/lines-2/comment-page-1

December 11, 2014. The page writes itself. No poetry without pain. Like lines on a palm. Or lines on a face. A deepening furrowed brow. This entry was posted in Uncategorized. One response to “. December 14, 2014 at 12:42 pm. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public). You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out. Blog at WordPress.com.

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And A Blackbird sang | Margaret Gill

https://margill7.wordpress.com/2015/04/05/and-the-blackbird-sang

A fine WordPress.com site. Review of Yoga classApril 2nd. Recharging Energy when we’re feeling low. Recap of the May 21st.lesson →. And A Blackbird sang. April 5, 2015. And a Blackbird Sang. I sought a lover’s arms. In solace and in warmth. I lay relieved and soothed. I thought of all who lay alone,. Hurt, distressed, wounded without redress,. Throughout the troubled world. And wept hot tears of love. Just then outside on frozen bough. A blackbird sang his morning ode of joy,. April 5, 2015 at 5:21 pm.

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Tranås | Goodnight Indigo

https://goodnightindigo.wordpress.com/2015/05/04/tranas

About ‘Goodnight Indigo’. Lonely Heart →. May 4, 2015 · 6:52 pm. For all involved with the Dylan Thomas International Literary Residency 2014. Tack så mycket. April air mizzles cool, jewels. And drips along telephone wires. Netting the dull streets together. We left. As quickly as we took root, one minute. Brilliant yellow, the next a puff. Daffodils cracked from wet roadsides,. Dust in a jumble of lights. At the echo of my popping heels. The gulls wash upwards, crying. Outside the station. Car horns.

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Goodnight Indigo | Poetry by Natalie Ann Holborow | Page 2

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About ‘Goodnight Indigo’. Newer posts →. October 6, 2015 · 9:11 pm. During the events of the Easter Rising in 1916, Joseph Plunkett and Grace Gifford were married at Kilmainham Gaol in the presence of two wardens. The newly-weds were given ten minutes after the wedding to see each other before Joseph’s impending execution). Grace counts a knuckle. For every minute,. The dull thud of his pulse. The guard puffing clouds in his collar. Stars cram above the Liffey. Or scuttle back home. 8211;four minutes,.

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Lonely Heart | Goodnight Indigo

https://goodnightindigo.wordpress.com/2015/05/16/lonely-heart

About ‘Goodnight Indigo’. After Summer →. May 16, 2015 · 9:14 pm. How often, when she walked that route. Through shivering huddles of smokers. And the chinking, steamed-up restaurants. Or stopped to text, hot-faced in her skirt. And leaned for a moment at the harbour wall. Had she thought about herself, penned into a small box:. 4 desperate lines between the vinegar-stains. Of yesterday’s newspaper, stuffed away behind the globes. Of page three’s Lucinda, her lean legs. After Summer →. On Delta of Venus.

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Stu Peskett Poetry

January 6, 2015. Watching, the brush strokes of the painter. On this empty, elegant canvas. A broad sweep of the brush,. Then another and another. Grass, Gorse, heather,. And that perfectly autumnal brown- bracken. For summer’s gone, and the moor breathes out. Relaxing luxuriously, just like. The fanning dripping ferns,. And almost luminous green lichen. Of the hidden woods, in the secret valleys. Ancient gnarled bowed silver birch, surviving almost anywhere. Firstly sketching the bare bones. On a furthe...

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