You'd never know
that ice and snow
had come and gone -
no letting on:
in five degrees
beneath these trees
the midges dance,
twine their entrance;
small flies, their wings cream fur,
stately through stillness burr;
the breeze is rare
stirs fawn stalk there.
From lunch-time playground,
primary cries resound -
usual high excitement
lessons soon must dent.
Finch sits on a ledge
his bets to hedge:
"Buy, peep, then twist -
not bust, I insist!"
Small birds skirl and chanter,
jibe and banter;
the pigeons too
must feature in who's who.
In the roll call, a clause
of lorry judder and bus roars;
a helicopter thrashes
crass metallic mashes.
Silence of a kind ensues
before neighborhood renews
its selving: thrums, yelps, cries
under sun-cracked skies.
YOU ARE READING
Wintering
PoetryIt's yet another MajorSeventh. Hop on the big shoulders and look ... Lastest poems are always posted last in my collections. Winter. So, expect sparse gardens, late autumn and wintry countryside, wry philosophy and humour, tenderness towards litt...
