The poet carves his path through grass
A well worn path it seems
He walks his metered steps to last
And rhymes bits in between
He chops his way through greenery
A road less taken, maybe
We tread his tracks, his scenery
The way he shows us daily.
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2021
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May
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- HUBRIS
- WE ARE THE STUFF AS DREAMS ARE MADE ON
- THE WAR OF THE ROSES
- EGG DAYS
- NIGHT AND DAY
- STREWN
- SHAKESPEARE AT DAWN
- THE FLUID DRUID
- WHOLES
- STREET ETIQUETTE
- BURST
- STUMPS
- SMOKERS COUGH
- FIRST CUP OF COFFEE
- OLDY-WEDS CONFETTI
- THE SILENT NIGHTCLUB
- NEGATIVE NEIGHBOURS
- DANDELION PUFF
- LOST YOUTH
- WONKY
- FEATHER TREE
- A FOLLOWING
- WORK DAZE
- ROOFTOP CHESS
- FIXED
- NOW THE SWAN - AN ORIGAMI LESSON
- SHINY SHOES
- NESTING
- CLOCKS
- WINGING IT
- POINTILLISM
- COUNTING SHEEP
- WORK IN PROGRESS
- EDITOR'S NOTE
- PUDDLED
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- COME THE AFTERNOON
- TRIPPING
- FORGET FULL
- TALES OF TIME
- Robin's Nest
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May
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About Me
- Kidcobbler
- Spent nine months dreaming on my back. Opened up new horizons, if only horizontal. Woke up disabled, with a Blue Badge and bed hair. Walk with a limp and a stick. Cue the double entendré and the stick. Saving money on shoes. Spending it on thoughts. Overdrawn at the creative bank. Loan facility disabled. The irony! Stronger through weakness. Weaker through slogans. New journeys to be taken. Pop along. I'm off my back. I'm back.
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