February And Beyond

Three Morning Poems

1 Tom and Viv Ruffle-feathers in a Tree

Liquid intricacies of claim and counter-claim,
emphatic argument of sharpest antiphon
Wow-trills and brute-burrs,
fluttering at each other,
drummed more explosively
through puffed-up chests to tongue
than any instrument at Vivaldi's
appreciative pleasure,
peg the fences of the air,
proclaim the heart's hysteria and strive.

Settle it and subside to cheap chip,
as the crows call across,
"Crap! Crap! Craaap!"

The pigeon registry is always open:
"Woo you? You through?
"Woo, woo you? You two?"

Gulls (deux) sail an early thermal,
trying themselves out as an item
(for the shipping of).

2  Sun on Marvell

The sun has cleared the trees and haze
and dazzles me upon my page.
I close my eyes and yield to heat,
for interstitial dream is sweet,
between the promptings of a brain
as restless as a bird's refrain,
to let sun burn my cheek and brow,
a 'green thought' in my garden now,
dozing through circus-master words
in amphitheatres of small birds,
through all the running roves of Lethe,
a treacled water stealing grief.
Then let it churn with wheels away
and green behind my eyelids stay.

3 The Trumpet Shall Sound

The angry trumpet
of a finch-cuss yells
behind my hedge.

Hysterics that a bad bird
could so disturb contemplations
of coffee-steam -
a shadow veil across the page.

I'm smiling yet,
will probably all day,
at cartoon images
precipitated by that
fuck-off finch
within the laze
of a carnival mind.

A fair has set
itself up within me
trafficking in waltzers:
"Roll out those
lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer."

Er... but... March?

I am a mad, hare-
brained, happy morning,
nooning now.

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