Peter Jones Poems
- On Being 60 Shaken by jackdaws, in their fluttering castles, ...
- Time For Our Time Come give me your tomorrow And I shall ...
- Clarbeston All bright this day in Clarbeston and soft the ...
- To Rex Whistler And we caught sight of flooded fields across...
- I, From My Northing Came I, from my Northing came: ...
- Somewhere Else This hot summer night is stifling me in this ...
- From A Train Green and green; and evergreen in my all, and ...
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On Being 60
Shaken by jackdaws, in their fluttering castles,
To steal whistling arrows from forgotten fields,
I hear the blackthorn twistily move amendments
to old postcards of tilted-at windmills;
But ever yet I dance
In the crab-apple innocence of my lanes;
Courtly in calling, with precious breath.
Rich it is to be here
In the wind-feathered morning:
Carving time in the parish of all my days long.
Sailing amongst mazes
I follow in the windswirl of sounds
I no longer hear - but listening still:
Happy as glistening and rare
In the ...