Poetry

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Haiku on a bus

The bus smells of tired Autumn cold bites slow “Home James” will be said soon

White Children

Little Jack. Little Jill. So small. So young. So innocent. What would they know about the real world? More than you and me. The faces…

‘Why don’t we learn anything in school, Daddy?’

It’s a question of knowledge, boy; the type of knowledge you need for life, It’s teachers, you see, that give us that type of knowledge…

Darkness Calls

It flies above you Swiftly, gently, calling the wind to itÂ’s power It flies with a great risk, into the song of danger Claps of…