Full Moon In Mid March
The moon's a kind interrogator,
steady with her yellow lamp
(between rakes of pollard avenues
or over parked cars)
at the street's end.
It might be here or there,
last month or next...
between a funeral and a christening...
Always she asks,
yet, I don't know her question
(or what it is must be
conducted / concluded between us);
but when I stand
her steady, yellow gaze,
drop away
drapes of circumstance,
times divide
lotteries of alibis.
................
Lid On It!
Euclid says it's winter;
Mandlebrot says, "Spring!" -
accounting for the vortices
of chaos on the borders of the thing;
some days in April winter will inter.
We tumble out to fourteen degrees
a sun cascading inner-ease.
(Let's ease that coat and jumper off.)
Three doors down they own a din
'Keeps cutting out!'
complains the Man.
That Juggernaut to blatter down
a little lawn -
been rusting all the winter long...
'Good', says Euclid,
tolerance wearing thin.
Mandlebrot hears chaotic music
in the Bang! Pop! Bang! so rues it.
Now the blackbird has a free bar
to try out his tonic sol fa;
I'd drink that in greedily,
above the distant drone
of prop plane
all day.
Blue tit peeks,
an apple and a pear
and all the twiggy tangles
wired between us there:
'I see you, Bigly.'
So bold today;
full of the milk,
drank all the vials from the sky
and left a wide blue,
hardly hazy.
.......................
Spring Gestalt
As relatively eloquent,
urgent, insistent,
certainly expressive,
as these so non-songbirds are
with their astounding rhythmic flurries -
Really, what a cheep-chipper
can do by way of poetry in the throes
of deep need! -
nevertheless,
I must confess a shadow
within me has more eloquence:
that maestro who projects ineffability -
meanings steeped in dreams
subliming bubbles in the slips
(no catching quick identities, Hermes)
upon the common ambience
of human music-concrete
that so circles us.
But then, its not my genius;
it's all, it's all of us -
mine just one take on a gestalt chorus -
throats of car revs, motorbike accelerations,
(ripped untimely - Macduff gruff)
the children's cries and barks from parks
that run to dusk.
Sometimes that common symphony
will do us for the streams on firmament.
.......................
