Fool!

Suspicion and humour sit

Their morning throne;

This is their time: caprice,

Distraction, prankster-rule.

Charming my way

Into the danger vale

Of simple black and white

I chance upon a

Thrown-down glove.

I know the trick, of old,

But even so I am

Inclined to accept …

“Should-I … Shouldn’t I?”

Is never really a question.

I’m drawn in, gulled.

First day,

First poem ?

O.K?

Out Here

And …

I’m out here

In the Big and Wild,

Feathers of rainfall

Both black and white

Are sentient:

Far too much

For some. Continue reading

All Behind Me Now ?

Last night’s rain,

The fence-creeping wet-poor fox,

The savage dreams of screaming men

Are all behind me now.

But their faces remain:

Dangled before me when I close my eyes;

I do not recognise a single one.

Am I supposed to?

Were they trying to pass on

A terrible secret?

Or had they just uncovered

The unholy lie?

I have no idea …

Their words, framed by desperate lips

Were lost to me, to everyone,

Their voices stolen.

Wise men say I cannot

Dream in colour.

If it is so, then black and white are

Cruelly vivid and dreadfully revealing.

Morning-of-April skies press the

New blue pages

 – Spring’s first chapter –

Against my unglazed windows.

15/4/2013