Saturday Night

Poem By Sallie Howson

Red pen
White wine
Van Morrison
Belting it out
And a blank page
Expanding.

Comments about Saturday Night

The perfect evening! ! ! ! You are a master at setting a scene and setting it with so few but well chosen words
I'm convinced poetry is from the soul.....perhaps this person sees Van....as dead. Though it leaves me wondering.....whom might the deceased one be! Let's play 'Moondance once more'....to be absolutely sure!
ohhh poor old van..don't kill him off yet..he's irish and still touring
'Van Morrison 'United States rock singer (1943-1971) , inspiring....


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Other poems of HOWSON

Death Of A Poem

Shot down in its prime.
Shot down
While making daisy chains in the park
For little girls to be daisy queens.

Jealousy

I’m not jealous
But I know what I saw.
It all started last night
At the restaurant,

The Old Man In My Bed

I woke this morning to find
An old man in my bed.
Short grey halo
Surrounding his bald head,

Foreigner In Italy

They love my skin.
“Sweet, sweet brown sugar”,
They say
Their hands running down my back.

Dancing In The Rain.

Knock, knock
On the window.
Two fat raindrops
Calling me out.

Don’t Ask If I Miss You.

Don’t ask me if I miss you.
I’m not some schoolgirl
Who’s lost her mobile phone.
Thumb still twitching