simonsalento

poetry and short short stories

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bird

09 December

December 9, 2021December 8, 2021 / simonsalento / Leave a comment

in the dream I opened

the wooden crate

there was a thrush inside, standing on straw

she blinked, shuffled her wings

and flew into the distance

where an eagle soared

Inspired by Juan

in silence we watched

September 5, 2021September 2, 2021 / simonsalento / Leave a comment

in silence we watched the storm of birds

stitch the tattered sky together

as the sun slid down behind the hills

stars shone through the spaces they had missed

Cromarty 12/08 (2)

August 13, 2017August 12, 2017 / simonsalento / Leave a comment

Dolphins flip backwards
Gannets plunge beyond the seals
Voices ring from rigs

Clouds beyond clouds

August 10, 2017August 8, 2017 / simonsalento / Leave a comment

clouds beyond clouds
charcoal layers far horizon
pewter smeared across, an artist’s chalk
birdsong breaking silence

Canonmills, March

March 23, 2017March 22, 2017 / simonsalento / Leave a comment

Spring snow on blossom
Hunched herons fix swift ripples
The stone bridge remains

Bus stop, Sunday morning

February 5, 2017January 30, 2017 / simonsalento / Leave a comment

The bus shelter must have been hosed down afterwards. Frosted ferns spread across the clouded walls. Thinned-rust ice dribbles meaninglessly down to the gutter. People frown at the sooted lamppost then see the torn blue tape. A robin cocks its head, challenging our gaze.

The bird quacked

August 26, 2016August 26, 2016 / simonsalento / Leave a comment

As I walked through the low doorway, a bird quacked. I looked down and hit my head. The bird looked up. “Me,” it quacked again.

Sometimes spelling is important

August 15, 2016 / simonsalento / Leave a comment

Sometimes spelling is important, thought Ringo in his afterlife, rolling dung into a ball. The bird locked up for stealing nodded and pecked.

The cloud of starlings

December 21, 2015 / simonsalento / Leave a comment

The cloud of starlings smudges
the bare-branched silhouettes.

Patiently,
again,
Hu wipes his finger on the charcoal.

He smiles.

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