Society’s leashed tiger-ballerina,
Tense, coiled spring dragon of
Defence as attack,
In and out of cloud,
In and out of consciousness.
Do we keep her here
With our greedy, silent wishes
When she dreams –
Smiling as she sits
On the republic steps;
Three full-on winter days
On the cold-wind, monotony yard
Feeding cold blue flames
With colder fuels.
Need to check out
My options …
Heading down the grey brick road
Heading to red sunset salvation dreams:
A place in the lottery queue;
Chance to compare journeys, calendars, champions, clocks;
Chance to find pattern and rhyme in random lines and concrete blocks.
Breathe shiver-deep, consider the numbers and companions that
Got us here, the histories that come together now –
In these magical moments …
Sometimes in order to see ahead more clearly
We have to look, hard and long over shoulders:
Chance of a ticket to be there
When we get to face the glory trials,
Stand on the way that other followers have stood
Ready to paint the next steps: red of course!
Curried by gentle
High clouds, gold-fringed
Tailings of the mined-out
Dreams and wishes of
Gone-world gods and ghosts
Roll across the blue geometry: Continue reading
Ferocious, combative and, as usual, uninvited
The Witch-Wind bustles into my
Pale world of blue, iron-flat skies.
She is familiar, perhaps, but unexpected: Continue reading
On the railway-edge of
The borders of town,
January’s watchman lowers
Industrial warehouse evening shutters
On a wet gone-along day.
Fierce red light beaming down
From somewhere near-to-God
Walks across the audience and
We glow like the embers that
Ring the eyes of a hunting harrier.
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