Poems by Phil Rees https://paper.wf/poems-by-phil-rees/ An eclectic collection of #poetry. Some #poems that rhyme and an occasional #poem that doesn't. Tue, 07 Apr 2026 18:46:18 +0000 Swim https://paper.wf/poems-by-phil-rees/swim <![CDATA[My limbs unfold, a held breath suspending this neutral mass. The meniscus loops my upturned face. Still I pause, and still, but for a squeeze of blood, outwardly immobile. This flesh weighs the water. Thin clouds drift, a backdrop for swallows and vultures. Here at the surface a dragonfly, observes, reports, returns to base. Exhale. Inhale. Stroke. Glide. Reeds reflect slow as oil. I remember days as hot. On the way through the park to the club, slicing a thumbnail across a grass stem to fashion a tickle for Gamp’s sunburned neck. Sat in the shade with shandy and dominoes beneath the same window my father would fill for his last photo, a carnation buttonholed for my aunt’s wedding, before she stopped speaking. Beside me now, the dock. Split. Seasoned. Decorated by abandoned skins that hold vigil, glowing against the wood-grain, ghosts of the living. Here last year I coughed a clot. There’s a comfort knowing the pain of death is not that bad. Their passing not, necessarily, agonized. The lake feeds. I’ve not been bitten of late. Dragonflies feast with swallows. Later my son will sit on my shoulders and tickle my ears. --- a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/"img alt="Creative Commons Licence" style="border-width:0" src="https://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-sa/4.0/88x31.png" //abr /This span xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" rel="dct:type"work/span by a xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#" href="https://mastodon.social/@phrees#" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL"Phil Rees/a is licensed under a a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/"Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License/a.]]> My limbs unfold, a held breath suspending this neutral mass. The meniscus loops my upturned face. Still I pause, and still, but for a squeeze of blood, outwardly immobile. This flesh weighs the water. Thin clouds drift, a backdrop for swallows and vultures. Here at the surface a dragonfly, observes, reports, returns to base. Exhale. Inhale. Stroke. Glide. Reeds reflect slow as oil. I remember days as hot. On the way through the park to the club, slicing a thumbnail across a grass stem to fashion a tickle for Gamp’s sunburned neck. Sat in the shade with shandy and dominoes beneath the same window my father would fill for his last photo, a carnation buttonholed for my aunt’s wedding, before she stopped speaking. Beside me now, the dock. Split. Seasoned. Decorated by abandoned skins that hold vigil, glowing against the wood-grain, ghosts of the living. Here last year I coughed a clot. There’s a comfort knowing the pain of death is not that bad. Their passing not, necessarily, agonized. The lake feeds. I’ve not been bitten of late. Dragonflies feast with swallows. Later my son will sit on my shoulders and tickle my ears.

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]]> https://paper.wf/poems-by-phil-rees/swim Tue, 08 Nov 2022 07:52:17 +0000 Gate https://paper.wf/poems-by-phil-rees/gate <![CDATA[this wood rough as the nails bent and quivering tapped gently through the same holes they slip slowly loose with the opening and closing creaking the hinges and the latch rusted to squeak each time I open to welcome you home --- a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/"img alt="Creative Commons Licence" style="border-width:0" src="https://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-sa/4.0/88x31.png" //abr /This span xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" rel="dct:type"work/span by a xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#" href="https://mastodon.social/@phrees#" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL"Phil Rees/a is licensed under a a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/"Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License/a.]]> this wood rough as the nails bent and quivering tapped gently through the same holes they slip slowly loose with the opening and closing creaking the hinges and the latch rusted to squeak each time I open to welcome you home

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]]> https://paper.wf/poems-by-phil-rees/gate Tue, 08 Nov 2022 05:42:01 +0000 When My Meat Burned https://paper.wf/poems-by-phil-rees/when-my-meat-burned <![CDATA[when my meat burned you sat by the pyre the heat of my cooling ashes warming you like my embrace eventually you gathered and scattered the remnants a little in the ocean grain by grain from a quiet kayak some in our garden to feed the trees we’d carried between our early homes pot by larger pot until we found a place to set down roots some on the beach where we found a small pebble eroded with a perfect hole for the thread of your necklace sometimes you cried then later honored our shared wish and so the moments of happiness amid the grief became moments of grief amid the happiness until your turn --- a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/"img alt="Creative Commons Licence" style="border-width:0" src="https://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-sa/4.0/88x31.png" //abr /This span xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" rel="dct:type"work/span by a xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#" href="https://mastodon.social/@phrees#" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL"Phil Rees/a is licensed under a a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/"Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License/a.]]> when my meat burned you sat by the pyre the heat of my cooling ashes warming you like my embrace

eventually you gathered and scattered the remnants

a little in the ocean grain by grain from a quiet kayak

some in our garden to feed the trees we’d carried between our early homes pot by larger pot until we found a place to set down roots

some on the beach where we found a small pebble eroded with a perfect hole for the thread of your necklace

sometimes you cried then later honored our shared wish and so the moments of happiness amid the grief became moments of grief amid the happiness until your turn

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This work by Phil Rees is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

]]> https://paper.wf/poems-by-phil-rees/when-my-meat-burned Tue, 08 Nov 2022 05:34:58 +0000