Today’s Short #Poem 001

The tall American, with the red
baseball cap, was in a panic
The short German, with the face
full of spots, was over-confident
I was calm
It looked like I didn’t care
It was only a small maze
but in one hour they’d be
locking up for the night

I sauntered out –
I did wonder if I should
go back in for them
but I fancied a cigarette

Ashley Bovan


Today’s Short #Poem 307


At the Fulcrum of the scales
is a small cabin Visitors’ Centre
where you can get
a cup of bad machine tea
look at the displays
pictures of the construction
of the scales
and have a chat
with the bored Tourist Officer
who puts on a brave face

Ashley Bovan

Today’s Short #Poem 306

She says she’s so clear
She, the story teller, wants sorcery
has to conceal her latest sorrow
retrace each error
rehearse each sonnet
sell oneness wholesale
erase another nowhere

She creates correctness
always controls the story
tolerates the stealthy
allows them to translate her letters

We renew each other
only when necessary
Last year she sent a rose

Ashley Bovan

Today’s Short #Poem 305

old stuff pokes up thru the mud

I travelled west and east on foot
for decades
valleys, plains, mountains
villages, towns, cities
I brought you gifts
I went without to buy you gifts
I faced danger to find you gifts

but you looked away
you scarcely bothered
to hide your contempt
you reached
for the chains and shackles

Ashley Bovan

Today’s Short #Poem 302

this wind

draws squiggles on paper,
phonetics to occasion
a harp in the air between us,
hoo-hoos in high C,
shuffles through tower block,
travels along rail tracks,
ten mile valley, concrete, glass,
steel, under bridges
dead leaves clack like castanets.

This wind,
passing strokes of pendulum,
the flight of months to nothing.

Ashley Bovan