Author Archives: rosross

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.

Discordant

The mind displays discordant, the monkey plays the tune, in clamouring confusion,  it staggers round the room. With nimble-fingered focus it shuffles all the thoughts, spits gently on the territory, through teeth of evil force.

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Faith

 Faith sighed, and in that whisper, drew sodden drapes aside.

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Welcome

Welcome grief, stay awhile. Let me wipe the dust from your shoes and the tears from your salted cheeks.

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PALESTINE ACHES

The dead have silent teeth and empty throats,they have no voice with which to speak, to cryof all the horrors they have seen and been andknown; to call for justice, freedom from the power of those who kill to claim … Continue reading

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Final solution

Raised across the parapet of mind,words frowned in distant gathering,horizon-huddled holding to the edgeof possibility defined, waiting for  release upon the brooding ledge ofendless misunderstandings, restlessas they honed edges to deadly shine,ready to cut without mercy; wielded in a winnowing … Continue reading

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On getting old (er)

What is this getting old? We feel no different  in ourselves but the world sees us differently and as skin relaxes into wrinkled submission,  we begin to write new stories for who we are  and what life holds. Because it … Continue reading

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When life hurts

 When life hurts, which it so often does, how do we find meaning and purpose to go on? Is there not some thing twisted in believing or needing to believe, that pain can be positive, that hurting can heal, that … Continue reading

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fear

What is this thing called fear? Which complicates the world, serves little purpose even when a danger nearby lurks. Why do we fear so much, instinctive and inbred, when dangers will be better done, where fear is not at work? … Continue reading

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This is the way the world ends……

This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper. T.S. Eliot, The Hollow Men. The reaction to Covid has reminded me … Continue reading

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The owl

The owl called through the night, Whoo, Whoo, Whoo, as if it sought itself, or its mate, or an echo of being in the darkness, driving through slow rain and dribbling hours when nothing more could be said, than Whoo, … Continue reading

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