Poems by Chris Mansell
dust
... at the time about to pick up my pen ...
the good soldier
... and this doesn't say it at allhe walks with his weapon through the town ...
Nature
... arrived so proud to be here, and busy, the plovers should have keys and a whistle on a lanyard each ...
Where edges are
... the clenched hills shrieked and sharp with danger ...
The unquiet city
... are unimportant God does not come here often ...
the beekeeper
... for dissident and obedient alikethose who gather in the courtyards ...
