John Scully Poems

Like the touch of sun,
returns the autumn splendour.
The secrecy beneath the shades
of ash brown and yellow leaves
...

The warm evenings open out
into hotdays of heaven scent,
such are the scenes as clouds toil windward
and soaring birds hover haughtingly over treetops.
...

On that bridge in Chelsea,
One afternoon in March,
A Sunday, as I remember
I kissed you.
...

In sorrow's lonely hour
When lost and saddened glances show,
Tears with a mist of dew
Blow like ashes scattered
...

I saw the shadows
Long after I had looked away
An imprimatura of self
Left clinging to the imposter
...

Till meadows weep with pollen drops,
And flowers turn to fruit
The ghosts of winter glimmer still
Among the frosty village frocks.
...

Last night it rained
and the night before
when the soup kitchen came.
Nice people those
...

You stepped down, a lion
singular among the crowd,
you had your Terai Hat
set angular, in a state of grace
...

Out of muddied pasts
and ninety years on
no guns, no blame
only prayers and dog-eared verses
...

In the summer of sixty-nine
we laid flowers at the edge
of the sea and wore
garlands of love in our hair.
...