Inside out

Some poems and reflections on life


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feelings of home

Lonely isolates
in a southern sea,
Driving north
up the island.

Small towns
restricted acts
of kindness towards
normality.

Holding fast to a
fragile sense
of civilisation
in a wild,

Untameable land of rock and
sand and trees.
Virgin to be
broken blood
spilt on the sheet.

I live at the south end of a long land mass – too large to be a real island, far too small to be a continent. This poem expresses a sense of dissociation that I get travelling out of the city.

© David Earle, 2009

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