white roses
on a wet sunday are sad
haphazard
not neat closed buds
but falling open
falling apart
they have taken something
of the complexion of their leaves
petals like soft thin skin
petals like skin on the inside
of an arm
rose scent of rain
on a wet sunday roses turning
towards a window
slow twist of hope
before the day and its damp submission
to the legion of days
where cut flowers struggle
yesterday my mother gave me white roses
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Published by Pam Thompson
I'm a Poet and reviewer based in Leicester, UK. My publications are 'Spin' (1998, Waldean Press), 'Parting the Ghosts of Salt', (2000, Redbeck Press), 'Show Date and Time'(2006, SmithIDoorstop), 'Hologram' (2008, Sunk Island Publishing) and 'The Japan Quiz' (2008, Redbeck Press).
My second full collection, Strange Fashion, will be published by Pindrop Press in 2017.
I am one of the organisers /comperes of Word! at The Y Theatre in Leicester, the longest running spoken word, open-mic night in the East Midlands.
I offer readings, workshops, mentoring /critiquing services. Enquire directly to pamthompson240@gmail.com
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