Photo by Alejandro Tocornal on Unsplash

His broken heart; resolve had sought

A harvest of a single thought

A jewel upon a mountain near the sky


The air was scarce, the night was black

With only ropes, bereft of pack

He scaled the sheer-faced virgin peak


His body numb, his fingers worn

And harried by a hope forlorn

He waited for the morning sun to rise


High on a ridge he found the cove

For there it grew, the rarest rose

He named it fair Titania of the heights


And scribed on paper with a pen

He wrapped it round her tender stem

And lay there with his sweetheart till he died



First Date

We sheltered under a chestnut tree
As the rain came down
And I talked of favourite words
The scent of fresh rain on soil – petrichor
The scent of a woman as she passes - sillage
And I felt I’d given her something of worth
I was wrong though. I’d only bored her.
Sometimes first dates go like this
And even the tree looked unhealthy



Duncan MacDowall

Sometime writer and satirist with an interest in current affairs, religion, sport, literature and a propensity towards penning political poems. London based.