by Mark Dron | Jun 23, 2009 | Poetry
We crouch behind makeshift sandbags, Jozsef grips a rusted shotgun, beside us cloudy milk bottles stuffed with rags litter the=2 0cobbles. I finger the trigger of my Kalashnikov, my hands trembling in the yellow-brick shadow of the cinema, we make a final stand....
by Mark Dron | Jun 11, 2009 | Poetry
I dreamt of you last night, but couldn’t see your face, a blur that fades from black to white, an image that lingers, from night into day a waking fugue. We were playing in the park, walking by the river, sailing yachts in the pond, cycling in the woods. None of these...
by Mark Dron | Jun 6, 2009 | Poetry
Grey concrete scratches the sky, graffiti’s stain a modern bible, proclaims a new religion. Shattered window s, empty sockets sightless, gaze out across the wire. Cold War ghosts, in the glare of progress, fade, retreating before the snow drops of millennium’s...
by Mark Dron | May 23, 2009 | Poetry
A Winter’s day, The corner of some foreign field, mist rolls like the waves upon some haunted sea, a sea of red that stretches far unto the horizon. Beneath it, lurking in the muddy depths rusting wire curls about lonesome bones, ‘neath fathoms of shattered lead. I...
by Mark Dron | May 22, 2009 | Poetry
It’s snowing at home. The Buses have stopped. Dad couldn’t find a Train this morning. The papers scream “Credit Crunch”,“Recession” and misery, Beer’s gone up, trials and tribulations. In the bottom of the parcel Nan’s placed warm socks, Kendal Mint Cake, a local...
