Political Science

As I write,

I talk, speaking in to my pen,

Pouring words like dew-drops,

On to a body of paper ice-sheets cold,

With only warmth from my hand,


A translation for the singing-trees,

Filled with sunshine and reaching upwards,

Shouting to the sky and up on high colourful-birds;

Sweetly singing : A writer's song.


A poet's lasting phrase,

Ringing 'decibels' in my ears, loudly drumming,

Healing a politician's ache and the 'hearty-fakery',

Of the crowds flocking amongst themselves,

Like swans swimming with clowns,

In a wild-blue lake brimming with prospects. 


Flock of Wild Ducks Swims in Blue Siberian Lake on Sunny Spring ...

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