Phil Brown -  journalist . writer . poet

Phil Brown

journalist . writer . poet

articles . books . poems


by Phil Brown




Now that your lives are over
You wait for them to begin.

Standing rows of golliwogs,
Your winter faces are black
And silent, still, you run
With the tide of grief
Swaying like seaweed
To the suggestions of the wind.

These mornings are cold
And your tears freeze at your feet ;
All is not lost though
For you will live to see the stone of winter
Rolled away.

But now, sadly, you wait
While the sallow sun
Sucks at the frost.


Sisters, all night you have humbly huddled here
Like silent cattle,
Heads lolling, bonnets bent,
Eyes flickering behind their jaundiced lids.

All night the moon called softly
As he climbed and fell

Now, wearing your raiment of fog
You are prepared
And you slowly lift your heads:
Swaying like a breeze
You gaze towards the east.

Soon the sky will tinge with blood
The womb from where your saviour comes
And, limp with wonder, you shall see
Your only Lord, the Sun of Suns.


by Phil Brown

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