The Air

I could cut the air with a knife


I used my dry humour.


Motes of emotion


Into the atmosphere.


A tissue of lies





Bore me down.


This pen:

This sword:

Mighty is the Word!

@shilyot 26November 2015 The Air

Fruity Vodka


Colours blanched by the spirit of the grain
Rubyesque orbs of berries remain
Sweetness shot into the liquor
Liquor tastes the fruity picker

Thinking berry vodka jam?
Blider cider could be the dram
Too many pips for blackberry pie
Or in a crumble, I’ll not try

Into compost these will go
And into vodka I’ll add sloe!

©shilyot 15November2015 FruityVodka

Paris: November

Break our bodies, break our bones
We’ll not give in to terrorist drones
Challenge our beliefs and freedom
All together in our Earthly kingdom
We respect your right to pray
In your Own particular way
But remember when you bomb
We’re all on Earth until the tomb
And when the dust has blown away
Our tears remain, remember the day.

Terrorism has no right
No place to have its say
Discourse has to take the lead
For All to have Their say.

Paris: November