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Keiron Farrow
I’ve
only been writing poetry since 2006, and though its early days for me I feel
I’m starting to reflect the world in a universal way.
I’m currently working on my first book of poetry, Now Then
Northampton.
The Ninth of the Eighth Seventy Six
Mirrors, awful liars every one of them,
the truth I face daily:
Germanic brow a shelf brooding,
blue McFadden eyes tinged yellow with
brittle red cracks staring back.
Weary Farrow lines with dark circles travelling
from Uncles to Granddads, Mum to Dad and
Great Granddad – those photographs:
A smile, childlike, endless, nameless and timeless.
Today is my birthday.
Crossing the Causeway
Rain celebrates the creation
of triumphant reservoirs in
that stalwart of English tradition:
the pothole-strewn road. My mind
Is the perennial red light.
Blizzards of fruit dash the Wednesday
windscreen, reminding me we are not
getting there. Impatiently I graffiti the
gently steaming glass:
I’m not dead yet.
copyright © Keiron Farrow
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