Here we are on Hunter Street, outside the University of Tasmania's Art School looking towards what remains of the working port. It's an interesting nexus of ideas at work here, and is replicated in Launceston, where their Art School is located with an old railyard. Deliberate? Who knows!
Here's a romantic poem today.
Woman
Her hair...
shimmered.
Her eyes...
sparkled.
Her smile...
glimmered.
Her neck...
glistened.
Her pancreas...
excreted.
14 comments:
I'm really loving your poems lately.
FF, they're all worthy of Keats and Wordsworth!
or U2
Tania, Bono just stole the line from Gloria Steinem.
Hahahahah... what a laugh riot... ur idea of romance worries me a tad bit.
Pancreas romantic?not sure..:D
nice poem ;)
Urm, the absurdity of romance indeed.
Priyanka, romance is a bit silly really. It makes people do profoundly stupid things.
Candie, all of wife's organs are wonderful to me.
Babzy, thanks!
Z, got it in one!
What is actually your idea of romance???
does seem frightening if we go by the poem ;))
Yamini, a bit of slap 'n tickle!
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