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I'm eating cherries. Contemplating high water, Notice the green square. F A S T painted in red Inside a black diamond On a whitewashed wall The cold cabinet Today's fish separated With lemon slices Chrome and bamboo I Watch the wheelchair fisherman Casting and casting Mortadella moon. The cardinal is eating Salted radishes. Silence. A clear sky. The embryo relaxing Will soon be a child. The gravel pit lake Gulls perch on rusted cranes Fisherman asleep. Fields of winter reeds A ditch digger piling mud Gulls stand in old rain. The flower seller Is blowing cigarette smoke Over his roses. Cold-moon bright bedroom Half asleep tethered with warmth I hear a tap drip. |
A moth on B flat Tobacco between the keys Empty piano. Bath time, a dead fly Floats in the cooling water I reach for the soap. Tanit figurine Worn stone computer lantern The slack marina. Indigo smoke from A cone of coincidence My hat in the air. Lemongrass burning Smoke rising, ash drifting to Opposite corners. Burning sandalwood Watching smoke become shadow SAW TREE FALL MAN WEDS On the canal bank... Smiling at my reflection Washing radishes (written to celebrate Peter's recovery 6 months after heart op) Seven fish
frying
Sizzling in a
smoke-black pan
Crescents of
lemon.
The gardener is Kneeling in winter sunlight Among last years leaves |
Excavated arch Of square cut lava. In the palms butterflies dance. Talk of the old times Over fried seabass and greens Half moon flycatcher. Next to the kiosk On the surface of the pond Wind blown winter sails. Pots with blue pansies A thrush steps back from his leaves Investigating. Under three glass bells Overwintering peppers The experiment. Planting chamomile Between the crazy paving So close dreams nearby. Come the Festive Tree Lights of blue along each branch Outline of a star. Crescents of onion, Zucchini and tomato Old man's birthday soup. A note to myself The glass at the table's edge Unfallen water. Blocking the sunlight The self-righteous sycamores Unpleasant as gulls. |
A garden of webs Spiders hunting between the Michaelmas daisies. No! It did not rain, My trousers and shoes are soaked? I coil an old hose. Elevator, "First Floor, second hand, third eye just Past electricals". Evening Primrose Like a this do nicely cat Not now, you Poppies. Fantastic beasts Circle the thorns of the Kraal Footfall and shadow Wood-smoke on the wind Winter pansies in their pots Autumn turns her key. Click the pillbox lid Quiet November High Street Mince pies for breakfast. Ask the bartender These small black flies in my wine Are they from round here. Wake up our music Dress it with silk for tonight There'll be pomegranates March buds green the wood No theme like spring present Fluted with crocus. Plod about the place Tidy up my shoes and pick Up flotsam paper. |
from the beggars coat spring yellow buttons of hope Winter aconite. The halogen lamps In the extractor hood hum- Late night mug of tea. Blackbird with your beak The colour of crab apples Oil on rain, the cat. Washing up white cups Remember what you can get Frank the Maffia Pope Weatherbeaten rose Snubs the usual suspects Feverfew and friends. In a poet's glance Poppies tease the artichoke Love in extremis. I am cool slippered barging gently through the jazz, To Watch the unloading. |
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Peter Sinfield songsoup42 at yahoo dot com |
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Arachnophilia