Poetry

Robyn Lance: Four poems

Cemetery by the Sea Those in the know straddle splintering cracks in the dirt track   ignoring the keep out subtleties of closed farm gates,   their reward a handful of graves from then and now   laced with grass and graced with head stones at drunken angles.   Some have been beheaded but crinkle-edged lichen   clustered like tiny tatted doilies dignifies an upright cross   and harlequin tiles cover death in black and white.   Forebears rest in an eternal location, location, location. Robyn Lance Cool climate At the closed café door a father struggles to couple his…

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