The journey back home — a forgotten roadwhen life is loudthe mind disallows,the heart disavowsthe pavement and parksof this forsaken town.
Under a sky of perpetual mourningthe snows of sorrowwere melted by morninga yawning sun that inspired a yearningfor roaming rogues high on romancethat bequeathed their love to mist-eyed strangerswho drunk-danced all night, blind to the danger. Under a sky of perpetual winterhearts freeze and hearths burn splintersgathered and sliced by yesterday’s childwho watches the embersContinue reading “Yesterday’s Child”
An unreasonable amount, really. I have 10 on the go, to be precise. That might seem obscene. What the hell am I doing with 10 notebooks? Surely you don’t use them all? Actually, I do. Most of them every day. You see, every notebook I have serves a different purpose. I have one conventional writer’sContinue reading “I have so many notebooks”
What am I?Nothing to write home about,Nothing to mention,Watching the window’s condensationdrip, dripping into my mind.Whose life is this?Is this bleak world all theirs?Is my little world all pretend?Are you still listening?Or have I lost you too?Like I lost myselfthe day I stepped out of my doorand joined their world.I assume you’re gonelike all goodContinue reading “I Assume You’re Gone”
Pieces of mechip and flakepieces of mebend and break. Fragments of mefall and fadefragments of mein my grave. Remnants of youlinger hereremnants of yousomewhere near. Memories of youin my mindmemories of youlost in time. © Davey Cobb 2022 All Rights Reserved
Once again, my life exists in a state of constant flux. In just over two months, I will be moving with my partner to New Brunswick, Canada. It’s going to be a challenging move, as I’ve only ever lived in the north of England. But it’s a challenge I’m looking forward to facing. I’m excitedContinue reading “Changes Abound”
I never thought that I would write these words down, but I have to say that I have started to fall in love with writing poetry again. For such a long time, I suffered a turbulent relationship with poetry, both in terms of writing poems, and also reading them. I enjoyed scribbling down a fewContinue reading “Me, a poet?”