AUTUMN REMNANTS

Autumn Remnants

Too soon this year has aged
Too soon the day
Too soon the leaves have fallen
Too laden the ground
The woodland lies silenced within autumn's
Shroud

A breeze shakes the leaves
Shakes the leaves from the boughs
Like many hands waving
Waving farewell
The birds are all exiled
Empty their nests
Too many partings
Too little time
Leaving the remnants of memories behind

S.  Evans

COFFEE CHAINS...

COFFEE CHAINS...

Doctor Foster got mugged in a Costa in Gloucester,

by a barista imposter.

You're nobody's hero if you drink in a

Caffe Nero.

Drink in a Wimpy?

No, to put it simply...

Coffee Republic?
I know I am a simple chap,
But is this country on a map?
Some South-American dictatorship?
The thought of which would make me sick.

Would you try Apostrophe?

Only to pop in for a pee.

Pret a Manger?
I'll remain to them a stranger.

How about a Burger King?

Only to learn why the caged birds sing...

Well how about... Ahem... the golden arches sign?

Only if resigned,

To be sued for stepping out of line,

A prospect which  I must decline,

So with fingers crossed,
Behind my back,
I'll say their coffee's simply  fine
In fact I'll say it is divine.

Meet you in a Starbucks?

Go and get f@@ked!

© Stephen Evans 2012

LATE IN THE EVENING

LATE in the  evening

At Tintagel most fitting

Like Isolde and Tristan

Upon the high cliff top

The sun's slow decline  to

A scarred charcoal line

Its terminal rays sad setting the distance

Drawing an end to the day and our time.


The warmth of the summer left too far behind us

The weakness of will and the skin's soft corruption

Worn down to the bone and hardened to stone

Holding the fossil that had once been your hand

And the churn of the shingle and the waves' wanton crashing

Crushing the tired last trace of the day

The chill of the sea-mist

All ceasing of colour

Replaced by a shroud of a permanent grey.


(c) Stephen Evans 2015

What Do You See?

What do you see

When I'm sat in my chair?

Do you see the young man who never would sit down

And never have been caught dead in a chair

Who would rather set it alight and be up for the fight

Or do you see the drained old man without the wit or care

To free himself from his comfort snare?


I feel you measure me with your look

However softly sent

Within our share of living room

The afternoon has waited too long and has left

I ponder these questions I never dare ask

I haven't the courage to hear your answer.

(c) S Evans 2015