Ah, two giant, white convolvulus bells in
glory pointing skywards, soft satellite dishes
atop the tall sprung hedge, in the wet
which has lain the dandelions aslant.
In sudden suspicion, rip a long, privet twig
to clear the works of red and yellow speckled
orb-spinners, laced from hedge to apple boughs,
still beaded a little after heavy dew,
catching
bubble-itches from nettle-caresses to find
an avid fungus has devoured the blackberries,
bowed stems thick with clusters of grey gobbet;
and what remains untaken, eat there and then.
Derelict and childlike in untended premises,
poetry has the best of me:
is it my clever Ned Poins,
my Bardoph, with his lantern nose to guide,
my Falstaff impulse: play, brag and rage the day;
or, simply that with Dylan I sing in my chains?
YOU ARE READING
Under The Wings
Puisi.Under the Wings of the Egyptian and world-wide respected Goddess, Isis. Poems of Nature, Inner Resonance and Mythology.
