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Pebbles in my Pocket by Gill Kingsland

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A collection of fragments, short free verse poems, and exercises in mindfulness.

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Category

SKU 978-1-907623-99-8

Description

A collection of fragments, short free verse poems, and exercises in mindfulness.

Gill’s Author Page

Additional information

Writer

Gill Kingsland

Format

ebook (available as .pdf or zipped .epub file)

Kindle ASIN

B00BWYCQ5K

View a sample



(xiii)

Dialogue Overheard

But speaking as a mother/
Breast implants have really helped/
Needing new shoes/
Her knickers are in holes/
I don’t think the school/
Worried enough about leakage/
Out of my budget/
New slide in the playground

With relief, I stood for my station stop
And took a taxi home, for the silence.

* * * * *

(xiv)

Frost-cracked grass, the last light of the moon
And chocolate trust eyes loom out of the gloom.
Warm breath on my neck
Dogging my steps
Breaking the ice,
Hay in the manger
Skipping the danger
Of hooves on my toes
Placing the morning’s hot mash
Hearing the clash
Of feed bowls on the yard

My boys are at breakfast, I cuddle a coffee.

* * * * *

(xv)

Time, carved by the tick
Quartered by the tock
Of a clock
Does not exist at all

* * * * *

(xvi)

As a river runs from its source to the sea,
occasionally reversed by the tide, so might it be that Time flows.
Perhaps each surge, each bubble, each raindrop, each drooping bough
dimpling the surface causes an anomaly that shows
those who watch, or accidentally see, moments gone and moments to come.
A ghost may walk because the tide turns,
a future may peep through because a child skims a stone.
How long will it be before someone learns
What would it be like to walk along the banks of a river that is Time?

* * * * *

(xvii)

Warm river bank, sparkling water, fingers drifting with the weed
And trout, tickled, out and down in the sun.
But I let him go.
Lentil stew will do.

* * * * *

(xviii)

Click clack, click clack
Wearing my hat
From here to there
And back again.
Train wheels.

* * * * *

(xix)

One shard of sunlight,
A handful of glittering raindrops.
It’s enough
There is a rainbow.

* * * * *

(xx)

An icicle in the moonlight,
Blackened by a cloud
Is no less beautiful in itself.

* * * * *


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