My name is Henry

short poetry, photography, new, fresh, ghost, gauze, faint, tenuous, dimension

The place I used to visit,
On bad days,
With yoghurt and spoon,
Is vacant.

The leaves are raked,
Into a neat pile,
By the bench,

And except for the newspaper,
Blowing about in the wind,
There is no-one here.

The river beyond,
Is a murky brown,
Same as it’s always been,

But,

Over the concrete balustrade,
On the sandy bank on the other side,
Is a briefcase.

Is it yours?

My name is Henry,
And I’ve been disappearing for years.

I can’t seem to find my way home.

 

photo – webstockpro.com

-evocative short poetry

 

 

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3 thoughts on “My name is Henry

  1. Hi Kenny, so glad to read your words again. I have a poetry/blog opportunity to share with you if you are interested. Email me please at mygracenotes@gmail.com if you’d like to hear more. With love, Lesley-Anne

  2. Anonymous says:

    Magical.

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