Weeds grow where they want to; not where they're told to...


P D Lyons





It Should Have Been September


I thought you would be different

Maybe red or brown

With eyes slender salamander blue

But weren’t you pale

Complete stranger to our sun

Eyes the colour of which retreated from

Everything I ever knew



I had thought of places

Silk and velvet

A thousand and one cushions

Valentino sheik

Dancing cheek to cheek

Champagne tipsy Grande Hotel

Feather bed white on white

Cigarette shared in the dark


But it was outside

Full sop summer on the ground

Blue sky edged by reservoir pines

Occasionally framed

Your face

Above me






To purchase this book click HERE

for a direct email link to erbacce-sales


To learn some more about the poet click here