leavings a collection of left-over poems John Bailey
A unique quiet, loud in silence And here you are, your mouth crumb crumbly and the remnant of free verse from the balcony I've never seen wolves, loping free If you stand here it's not personal Laying laurels on the night, I dash More than sound and light No No shining star On the road to Watchet Paused by poets, stilled to imperial rest Pray for me Sometimes blind rage is the only response The light about me comes from The mist flows down from the mountains This is a day of mist. I watched This is not a mountainous place This landscape is wrong. Hills fold, fields reach This is a day of mist. Yesterday Watching a tape I'd made We walk together through massed pigeons When there's nothing left to say
contents