Tuesday, 28 February 2012

Not A Day For Cloudspotters


Above, this sky has a face for radio;
A pallid complexion-
In uniform-grey;
Felt blazer, buttoned-up
To-the-neck,
Constricting trachea,
Stifling breath. 


Still.

Not the merest hint of rose
To flush those cheeks.

Below, the trees stand
Polydactyl. Prodding.
Each bony digit twisting,
Arthritic;
Anticipating snow,
In Spring?

But, in listening,
The fluted sound
Of birdsong is pleasing.
Unaided by Altostratus
And unidentifiable,
As yet. 
And now,

The alarming sound
Of seagulls mating,
Atop the chimney breast
Reunites my senses.
Deoxygenated;
My lips are violet croci,
The air is liquid nitrogen,
Brittle finger tips
And snow-capped clouds.
Nothing to see here.





3 comments:

  1. really like your description of the day in the opening...relating it to the clothes makes it tangible too..actually most of your descriptions in this make the day tangible...nicely done...

    had a beast of a time trying to commment with word verification...it does not show up on all versions of IE

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    1. What with crap type-face and stringent verification....I don't know? Thanks for comment :)Just a quickie I wrote in the garden.

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  2. You have very interesting imagery. This is a very silent and contemplative poem about a quiet winter's day. I like "Above, this sky has a face for radio." Very nice. Overall, I enjoyed it.

    By the way, I decided to follow you on Blogger. if you'd like to follow me its www.thegaiad.blogspot.com. I'm also @fishofthedesert on Twitter.

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