Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 License


Thinking is a bore,
Makes my poor brain very sore,
Just sitting, thinking.


In line, rusty red,
No arms, no legs, not even heads,
Forever on parade.

Tornado (the plane)

Streamlined and deadly,
Lord of the air seeks its prey,
A shadow of death.


Smokey is my cat,
And he is a very fat,
Podgey pussy cat.


Inspiration, where?
Always here but never there,
Floating in the air.

The Dove

Gracefully soaring,
Through the skies, crystal white bird,
Bird of peace, not war.

© Robert Crowther