Poems Uncategorized



Absence makes the heart grow hungry.

Distance makes the heart eat itself.

I hid us under the sofa, tried to let us fester,

sat on my hands and feet until they felt dead

and I’d miss the last train

so I wouldn’t have to face it again.


I called you home and I really meant it.

But sometimes home only exists within a city,

and sometimes a city only exists

to turn buildings into claws,

to grip our cheeks and part our mouths into snarls.


So over the fisted dullness of this late March

trains race as if blood through veins

to take what’s left of us

to spend the weekend’s currency

ingesting until we split.

By Charley Genever

Emerging poet from Peterborough addicted to words would like to meet similar minded folk to engage in a poetry revolution.

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