Borling, John 2013
Thursday, April 11, 2013
The west was a patchwork of color flung over a racing sky,
The wind was a lover’s whisper that needed no reply,
The strip was of weed-torn concrete, scarring the desert floor,
And a derelict came flying,
Flying, flying,
A derelict came flying,
Long final to zero four.
– John Borling, “The Derelict”
Listen to an interview with John Borling about his book of poetry, “Taps on the Walls:”
I hear you walking in the night;
You think I’m fast asleep.
I know your sounds of loneliness;
I hear you pray and weep.
– John Borling, “Mommy, Where Is My Daddy?”
Watch John Borling read and discuss his poetry for Book TV:
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