Not For The First Time

Between sharp-sting showers

We all stare intently into

The February-end fire heart

Hoping to glimpse a little of the sun.

In that Damascus road

Moment of realisation

I suddenly know we are not all

Looking for the same thing.

The establishment, I suggest,

Look for the return of the old sun;

Reassurance of pattern and continuity.

Those wishing to throw off the

Brake- chains of winter and

Too-tight familiar ties seek

The nativity-shock of a new-bright Sol.

The hobos and the desperadoes

Will welcome any one that gives

But a day’s worth of warmth

And some ease of heart.

Shame on us all –

Indeed a shame it is for us all –

For the flames that lick and twist

And flare-dance so seductive wise

Are impostors only; we are vain

And foolish-distracted, looking,

Not for the first time,

In completely the wrong place.

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