Sunday Evening in June, London, 2017

Sunday Evening in June, London, 2017

By JFarrell


The cats wearily open an eye as I walk by,

Too tired, too hot,

To see if I come armed with a bag of sweets;

The chirps and tweets of birds;

Sparrows, tits, pigeons, gulls,

As they nestle in for the night.

The sky is a light blue-gray,

And the deep violet clouds are edged with an orange hue.

Just a single plane in the vastness of the sky.

The light breeze is very pleasant

Getting under my shirt and up my sleeves

A very welcome coolness.



I wish it could stay like this forever;

In peace;

But, with the morrow

Will come the aftermath of last week’s tragedy,

Hopefully lessened in tension and anger, if not grief;

And who can foretell what else

Tomorrow or the days after may bring.


Though I know it can’t last forever

I still wish peace for London and the World

In the hope that one day it might.


Author's Notes/Comments: 


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Haqueian Verse



The birds return home,

They momentarily cease,


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First Poems


As owls whisper their last ‘whos’

And breezes are full of nightingale’s croons

I rouse from a luscious snooze,

As your warmth around my neck tunes.

Your hands as soft as morning dews

Caress me with sunny soothing beams…

Alectrona, lift off your veil, oh, my muse,

As elegant as dayspring mist of dreams.

You bathe me in serene perfumes,

Of puzzling, spellbound skies,

Of freshness and azure blooms.

My goddess in a chariot of fire, arise!

A golden crowned head of blaze,

Indeed a blessing, in daylight break through haze!
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September 12, 2013




She walks a strange peculiar walk,

sunglasses mask her piercing stare,

and yet the masses stop to gawk,

and whispers fill the Autumn air.


I know not why she walks this path,

she has no story to be told,

you'll feel no hatred in her wrath,

her smile will never keep you warm.


But when the people look at her,

they'll see a goddess with no fault,

when sanity begins to blur,

they will succumb as she has planned.


And in the end I know not of,

a way to bring her from the path,

her bleak and dreary kind of love,

will satisfy them none the less.


So let her falsely resonate,

with empty shells she echoes best,

for it will take a twist of fate,

to bring her ghostly form to life.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Inspired by a model I happened to run into today. 

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shadowsin                  flight         through





       ning, care-

                              less, free


              dancing with their pointy little capes,


through swarms of dinner and careening, zooming, just above our heads!



           tiny bodies

                   plunge past  


           of a perigee


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