February 4, 2020

You old seducer, with your chlorophyll,
Are your promise; their hidden prickle will
Remind me each joy comes with wounds somehow.
And taken by surprise I am undone,
As I find myself to be every year,
I welcome Shakespearean phrases in,
Its very theatre demands it here.

October 1, 2018

I would not put a bench for you in Harlem,

Or Philadelphia where you were born,

But a suburban park in Hillingdon,

Where I once would sit, young, and quite alone.

Growing up, and your songs were in my head

With the melancholy of teenage years.

Although you had been five year...

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© 2018 James Morgan Nash - Writer and Poet - Leeds, West Yorkshire, United Kingdom - james@jamesnash.co.uk 

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