Category: Poetry
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The Breeze : It is she
Hers is the breeze that whispers to the trees, sieving the sunlight through the green leaves.
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The Jigsaw Puzzle of Grief
Grief is like a box, as was told to me, which is true, and also not so true. In my box lives yet another jigsaw puzzle: like the ones given me, in hospital as a boy. An occupation to consume the time, hundreds of pieces first scattered, on the silver arched bed table, Next drawn…
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The Sky was NEVER Blue
I’m driving looking outward and around that day. I’m watching the road, admiring the clear blue sky. A beautiful day, the sun is shining, I say. No it’s not, is her only and considered reply. I then espy a wispy thread of cloud that disappears : maybe cirrus perhaps even cumulus. Now there’s nothing between…
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Never Too Late
Never too late, the words fly by, signed on a building: Ashfield railway station. I see that everyday, she says to her schoolmates, no matter how I sad and depressed I am, I see that sign and I know it will only get better. I sigh silently. Her words, my thoughts, Me too. Grace sent…
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i hope this email finds you well
https://andrewwhalanpoet.substack.com/p/i-hope-this-email-finds-you-well?sd=pf
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The worst gift of love is a spreadsheet
Ah yes the bargain of love gainsayed, If I do this you’ll do that, and your love for me will flourish, because I’ve made it so.
