Columbines

Hundreds of birds swirling and fat

Arrowheads of columbine

Pitching and curling

Boats bobbing on the air like a thought never landed

One that got away

To flap and battle winter winds

And plummet with the current

Lenses

A lone swan

hoom, hoom ,hoom

So low I can see it’s chest heaving with every pull against gravity

 

This evening I see the road lit living rooms of empty souls

Filled with terror

Like the view of a dream through windows, from the outside

 

Is this the real life

Within?

Without the Great Tit calls with seesaw clarity

succeeding a winter sheet, that has hung lenses from arching rose stems

That show a world upside-down

Odyssey

Mangled silence

Tuning blackness in flat white space

Sky smashing savage savanna simians

Pushing to touch

A solid dark void

Throbbing with streams of silver

And splashing colour

Revolving rivers

Reflecting living landscapes of time

Sun rays and lines of light on leaves

Lawn crusted quartz quiet river round ripples

Tripping, dripping

Morning melt steaming stream

Taking

time

Radio Silence

The fast day drawn to standstill

Just tyre tears on an empty road

Just leg waves lapping on the bath tub

Just the overflow draining my volume

And the day dissolves

Before me

 

Pause

A field of hope

Illuminating mist

Ylang ylang and sandalwood

Drip poised grasses in brushstroked arcs

and diamond webs

If I slow down I see particles of fine air

Swirling before me

Holding the moment

 

Lookout

A morning climb

To perspiration peaks

Chinks of chestnuts

Then gravity

To berries and buckthorn and breeze

And a trail of sterile smells

On smooth steel rails

 

Through stale green woods

Chalk castles and cuttings

And cracking green domes

The Channels sweet nothings

 

The bright and the height

And bamboo flight

Of clay curtained windows

Stationed words of light

And distant vision

Hiding in plain sight

I’m up in the straight trunked cherry tree

That no one else can climb

It stands like a flamingo,

I swung up like a monkey

And, buried in ice cream blossom

I’m hiding from my brother

But he went inside long ago

To read a book

If flints are people with problems

Then the watch is a ticking time bomb

And if the bushes are an approaching storm

Then the paths are borders of a kingdom

And if the scaffold keeps the edifice upright

Then the pine is an old man in his youth