Combe Down

jwhhobbs22
Jan 10, 2025
1 min read

A beautiful painting

Then and now to recall

Without context

But no amount of bitterness dries the colour

No sound can sap the shade

And set in my head

That image of coming home to love

In a sun drenched and light soaked city

The warmth from windowpanes

Sheen of the western sun

Marble stones and marble statues

Will never fully leave me.

A more personal poem, about an old set of memories. All the best.

By J.W.H Hobbs.

Recent Posts

See All

Up in the Morning

Up, hear the odd calls It may be a burble, or the scatter of animal chatter Press your fingers into tools or bricks forming words While grey, then black, then still skies spool ahead. By J.W.H. Hobb

Return to Read

I found this week how interesting it was seeing another person’s approach to an academic paper. There’s guideline suggestions, a CASP paper at the ready, and the normal read is surveying the terrain.

Back of the Throat

Mucal membranes block the throat We lose our air and start to choke With regularity, in dark times Full function is hard to find It will pass, or it will not Each wound, bound and unsleeved thought

Comments