Haiku
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Old Ireland is dead. Its language, culture, and soul, Traded in euro. Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021
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Odin’s blood payment, Half his sight given for the Allfather’s knowledge. Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021
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Cog and gear given To most inquiring children. Foundations are built. Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021
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This little notebook, Weighed down over time with ink, Its blank pages stained. Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021
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A dagger voice cuts; Doubt laid upon this heart. A Rain of brass petals. Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021
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Frazzling flash frost has Stole away clumped morning dew. Gave blanket to ground. Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021
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Putrid flesh rended, On history’s bloody page For all eyes to see. Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021
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Sweet shop favourites Corroding rotted molars. The price of sugar. Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021
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Spewing from a dark Blue outside. Evening’s pale Shuffle dance begins. Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021
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Look out for meaning’s Sheen seen from corner of eye Like peering magpie. Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021
Giuseppe Gillespie Writing 