fog lifts to show snow on hills
the folly’s columns are silhouette
clarity of view and thought
Poetry?
against the flow
the only person on the riverbank walking away from town
the only person with no dog or a rugby scarf
he holds his shopping bag tight and swinging slightly
See? I have a right to exist. I have every right to be here.
On the bridge
it has rained and rained on the hills upstream
the river flows deep, the colour of builder’s tea
beyond the last fields the sea waits
rain batters
rain batters roof tiles
the red shutters may not hold
my heart is not storm ready
but who is the one
but who is the one
who is the one who
is the final one
who is the only one
who
sun arrows
sun arrows down from cloudless skies
winter wind bringing ice to skin
in the distance the hill burns
rye bread, mint tea
Come, I will offer you crumbs of sour bread.
Hold them
on your tongue;
your mouth fills.
How different the emptiness that fills your belly,
the emptiness in my heart
when you are not here.
After, we will drink mint together
or boiled water on ginger,
for heat
for spice
for the sweetest spark in your eye.
and time
and time and time and time
will catch us in its oily grasp
and hold us there unmoving
as people places memories all fade away
function non-function
the broken vase no longer holds flowers
but
the shape of its shards in the sand is pleasing
the vase was blue and held yellow spring flowers
the cat that smashed it tar black
water drains soon into dryness
I took the larger pieces
– the dust I blew into corners –
and painted bare pottery gold
laid in the garden its function has shifted
now pure adornment (if purity we know)
stop
reflect
still its being enchants me
in the darkness snow falls
in the darkness snow falls, covers snowdrops
green heart quivers
daylight cracks unclouded sky
iced snow shields the living
