Wendy Cope: After the Lunch
On Waterloo Bridge, where we said our goodbyes,
the weather conditions bring tears to my eyes.
I wipe them away with a black woolly glove
And try not to notice I’ve fallen in love.
June 10, 2023 · 4 Comments
Wendy Cope: Lissadell
The light of evening. A gazelle.
It seemed unchanged since Yeats’s day.
Last year we went to Lissadell
And life was good and all is well.
September 3, 2022 · 4 Comments
Wendy Cope: The Waste Land
A Phoenician named Phlebas forgot
About birds and his business–the lot,
Which is no surprise,
Since he’d met his demise
And been left in the ocean to rot.
April 30, 2022 · 4 Comments
Wendy Cope: Flowers
Look, the flowers you nearly bought
Have lasted all this while.
February 13, 2020 · Leave a comment
Judith Sanders: Late to Meet You at the Indian Restaurant
So I drove, and listened to the news, about
the demise of democracy and collapse of civilization
head-beams probing the dark like outstretched hands.
February 12, 2020 · 5 Comments
