Category: My Poetry

Memiors, My Poetry, People, Personal, Poetry, writing

Two-Headed Coin

Jo Bryant

You said you’d love me, till I lay cold in a box of walnut with silver handles; now I turn the electric blanket to two, and keep my socks on at night. You promised to wear your ring with pride, but melted it down for thirty dollars, You wanted to fall asleep inside me; rock… Continue reading Two-Headed Coin

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Animals, My Photos, My Poetry, My Small Stones Poetry, Personal, Pets, Poetry, writing

Love

Jo Bryant

she speaks in the way she moves her purr at my touch silences me

Animals, My Photos, My Poetry, My Small Stones Poetry, Pets, Poetry, writing

The Hunt

Jo Bryant

Rounded yellow eyes track movement up a wall, life’s short

Animals, Birds, My Photos, My Poetry, My Small Stones Poetry, New Zealand, Poetry, writing

Tui

Jo Bryant

standing out amongst the dawn chorus a lone Tui takes the solo  

My Poetry, My Small Stones Poetry, Poetry, writing

Notes

Jo Bryant

A new CD, the notes bounce across the carpet.

My Poetry, My Small Stones Poetry, Poetry, writing

Envelope

Jo Bryant

An envelope larger than the rest, familiar scrawl I’m not forgotten

Celebrities, My Poetry, My Small Stones Poetry, Poetry, writing

Rupert

Jo Bryant

  yellowed pages from 1910 his words dislodge perception

My Poetry, Poetry, writing

Requiem for the alien

Jo Bryant

Her brown eyes stare at the Y fork in the road. As he turns the car left, she’s back in the taupe coloured room, looking down past her legs spread wide, a pair of grey eyes staring – the colour of steel – above a white slash of cloth that covered the lower half of… Continue reading Requiem for the alien

My Poetry, My Small Stones Poetry, Poetry, writing

Mask

Jo Bryant

# concealed in the reflection, my shattered face a broken self #

My Poetry, Poetry, writing

Saturday Afternoon

Jo Bryant

He was born with searching eyes, wrinkled and bruised, on a Saturday afternoon. As the clock chimes, his curled fingers reach out and they take him from what he knows. *** Wrinkled and bruised, on a Saturday afternoon he watches an endless white marshmallow sky; they take him from what he knows, their firm hands… Continue reading Saturday Afternoon