Wind blow up for rain;
wind blow grey away again;
brightness blustering
(dumbed by double-glazing)
all afternoon,
exchanging gold-daze for gloom,
barcoding long hours...
Maintaining parallel lines
trees, their leaves as twirling,
tethered, green streamers.
Hold out straight arms and wiggle your fingers;
be those suggestive presences.
Periphery of looming moods
comes and goes and is left there
beyond windows as you focus...
Type typos mostly even then;
and rebellious fingers
set alternative words, worlds
like caltrops for clarity.
Study responses,
head-scratch, scrutinize
sympathize, belly laugh with friends
that white-blue marble over.
..
YOU ARE READING
Keep The Home Fires Burning
PoetryA poetry Collection. Now Lunk has taken to his bed, swearing not to write one more word about C, and muttering 'bloody garden', it behoves (Love that word, don't you?) me (and Anima) to fill out his shoes, with soil and flower seed. So we will be 'e...
