by Joe Winter | May 11, 2023 | Singing in Mariupol, Poems
Idle Afternoon On an idle afternoon in Poüs I’m lying on my back,the still clouds in the sky float a protective warmthdown onto a sunburnt face of 64 summers,for long I’ve had no fine intention … I’ve not looked up,but eating, and bodily labours of love, of waste...
by Joe Winter | May 11, 2023 | Singing in Mariupol, Poems
Convict Number 1 Together we started our journey, together we learnt the thief’s art,and now you’re a policeman, and written on my shirtis CONVICT NUMBER 1. Reporting in on paroleeach day I lose a little of what’s left of my soul.If this goes on all the old memories I...
by Joe Winter | May 11, 2023 | Singing in Mariupol, Poems
yet in my dreams this house is minemy father did not raise it,nor his brother or father,but the touch of my handis in every brick …mixed in with the lime, sand and paintis the tang of the English language ..while never-worn pairs of trousers,unneeded, take a trip...
by Joe Winter | May 11, 2023 | Singing in Mariupol, Poems
To a Certain Poet You know, of all those who write for my magazine –no-one’s a poet.It’s the thoughts, the love, sorrow, passionof a mason, a phuchka-wallah, a life insurance agentthat light up my magazine. Now you – we’ve been your fans for ever,your verses simply...
by Joe Winter | May 11, 2023 | Singing in Mariupol, Poems
This Field is not Mine This field is not mineyet each year when the yellow paddy’s outand the deserted patch, with stubble all over its faceis left to lie in Agrahan’s yellow sun …what’s hurting me?Why should I dream the valleydreams a lost river, even now today? A...
