Tim Ashdown says he is a poet of few words, as these two nicely spare pieces attest. He originally thought of publishing under a pen name, but it is nice to see such work go against his real one.
Evening
A sunset splashed across the sky
Like wine across a tablecloth.|
And as the minutes pass
It fades into the fabric –
Now a blanket, thick and black,
Wrapped around the night.
Saturdays in Autumn
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A gust of autumn blows across the day
And carries me backwards 20 years.
The clouds are grey, the leaves are crunchy
And inside our house the TV coverage starts.
I could never sit through a full game
But even back then
Saturdays in autumn were for football.
Tim Ashdown lives in Birkenhead. He can be found on Twitter, at @TimothyAshdown.
Readers’ original and unpublished poems up to 30 lines can be emailed, with postal address, to [email protected]. A poetry book will be awarded to each contributor.
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