The Darkness of her Innocence
I had wondered
When she’d surface next,
Smelling of white roses
(Ladies don’t perspire, merely
glow and she glows sweet.)
She enters wraith like every
Afternoon and hides behind her paper
Guardian;
Siren hair cropped short
Macho combat jacket clad.
A blue scarf
Knotted at her throat
Offsets that pale face
Yet hardly plain. She
Stands erect, devours
Several pages, gorgeous, quiet.
She’s clever, even sensible,
But drowning in some hidden grief.
Who can ever penetrate
That barrier she builds, so sad, naif?
Page(s) 14
magazine list
- Features
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- Cannon's Mouth, The
- Chroma
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- French Literary Review, The
- Frogmore Papers, The
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- Iota
- Journal, The
- Lamport Court
- London Magazine, The
- Magma
- Matchbox
- Matter
- Modern Poetry in Translation
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- Neon Highway
- New Welsh Review
- North, The
- Oasis
- Obsessed with pipework
- Orbis
- Oxford Poetry
- Painted, spoken
- Paper, The
- Pen Pusher Magazine
- Poetry Cornwall
- Poetry London
- Poetry London (1951)
- Poetry Nation
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- Poetry Salzburg Review
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- Private Tutor
- Purple Patch
- Quarto
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- Reach Poetry
- Review, The
- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
- Seventh Quarry, The
- Shearsman
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- South
- Staple
- Strange Faeces
- Tabla Book of New Verse, The
- Thumbscrew
- Tolling Elves
- Ugly Tree, The
- Weyfarers
- Wolf, The
- Yellow Crane, The