Commuter?

Through the fast-forward frames

That gentle-rock and carry me homewards

I see familiar – but not – evening shadows

Lying timelessly across harvest-clock fields;

Full leaf crowns of trees that served as masts,

Fuel, trusses, wheel spokes and spear shafts

Lean now on thick, dark hedges

Like off-duty, slightly drunk warders

At the sleepy near-home edges of my day.

Like the Embers

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.

Treasures.

There are treasures to be found

In even the dullest, flattest of puddles

Ignored by the  sky-crawl sun:

The finger print shadows of clouds.

This devil-wind is a loveless hammer

Throwing whitecaps against cruel rocks;

War-waters crowd against the walls,

Big mean-business birds are on their way;

There was  a reason for this –

But if I was considered important enough

To be told – I cannot recall what it was.

I remember being told that every

Question is a storm that

Blows both ways;

Every gate is a frame.

You want to know who’s

Sleeping in my bed this week –

Do you really care? –

I need to know who is

Living in my head

Right now!

 

Photosource: www. santhisdiary.blogspot.com

 

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