Short Stories
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Judy Upton
Bunting
Judy Upton
Judy Upton
Poems
Featured
When I die, I would like a simple funeral.
No black clothes, except for mine of course
(slimming).
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Who wept their eyes out kissing old men?
Who pulled up trousers, in a bare glass house?
Who do we care for, and what if they die?
Who do we ransom for a king's pittance?
the virus is not a living thing / it cannot be killed / it must simply die
Helsinki 1862-1946
The Finnish winter this season softens.
Perhaps the snows blow from Gallipoli.
I paint my mouth an apple blackening,
A roaring lion beside lipsticked lakes.
Lazing in the hazy sun,
We always said
There was no hurry.
Days and weeks pass,
Of course
There was no hurry.
