November 29, 2012 at 10:06 am (literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, politics, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

In the old place, as you snatched your gaze away from me

I saw our futures in the furniture behind your head,

carved from antithesis, set in stone;

you rolled your eyes across an over- stretched conversation

and years flexed and flew.


While I pirouetted into semi dark,

you stuck your colours to the nearest domestic lamp

and remained  stoically moth-like. I hardly dare knock

at our last closed door, fearing the beat of distressed wings,

but I come with fresh baked anodyne,

and if you answer, it will make this new morning blossom.



  1. johnetheridge said,


    Hi! john from the Book of Pain poetry blog ( here. I wanted to say how much I enjoyed your poetry. It has a wonderful sense of rhythm and surprise to it. Thank you so much; and thank you to Lily of the serialoutlet blog for recommending you! I look forward to many more posts.


    • Julia Dean-Richards said,

      Thank you, John, and welcome to this poetry cave. I believe there are over three hundred miles of secret passages – I haven’t even begun to dig downwards – so it will be good to have you along 🙂

please feel free to comment on these poems - all feedback appreciated. :)

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