Poem By Anthony Dawson

A bright afternoon,

the day of sound,

end zone of feeling within love.

Your art is polished from dust to clay,

fired in the kiln,

paraded under blue ozone.

Waves wrecking that gnarled cliff,

eroding my state of induced haze

Cold Iceland wind and rose cheeks never wilted;

could I take the thought and bind every particle?

Strings of a heart quartet humble me.

I take you on this cold afternoon and have these nirvana thoughts;

numb cold afternoon;

The elements become stowaways.

Comments about Stowaways

I dig the day of sound and under blue ozone. Cool phrases. a lot of images in general!

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Other poems of DAWSON

Early Morning

Early morning changes my colour,
Weakens my magnet for you to escape into sleep
I asked the girl in the corridor if she was a
Morning bird, she smiled then floated into the


Resist the temptation to yell
as this expression gets under my skin;
I shudder and my soul is disturbed.

The Peach Face In The Clouds From The West

I saw your face,

the peach face;

Broken Backs

I stood amid destruction;

water trickled through corridors and pores emulating tears.

At Least Tommorrow

At least tomorrow I can sleep,

ignore the rapid fury of open eyes rasping my presence.

Factory Work

I can't yet hear the grind of the factory
I have just woken and my heart is racing
My heart is a racing fuse
Today I begin life as someone else