Twenty Fifteen?

When we cross the line –

One that clearly was never there –

A new Adam awaits:

Smartly dressed – en vogue –

Smooth moves,

Voice as stunning clear

As dawn-mountain dew.

Wisdoms, like queens, kings and shadows

Move gracefully on,

Long skies,

Sometimes holding the sounds of bells

Or furious chemical-coloured works-of-fire,

Roll by without sentence.

Moto GP, Estoril

Snapsmile, snarling pack

Of keening, raw-red-energy

Dragonets flying on

Challenge-tense banner-wings;

Leaning against friend-warm

Edges of rainbow drops,

Tight-bank competition-life rings.


In some calmer future

Kings and saints

May stand for something:

But not this fine,

Brimstone-balance day.