Never Be Seen This Way …

Catching my traffic-snarl’d eye

As I queue for a place on the road

Between a rock and a hard place

I spy, beyond a Victoriana municipality fence,

A tall, slow-motion sky rocket eruption

Of a graceful firework tree.

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It tumbles, turning in gentle stir-by breezes,

Teasing towards its arboretum lake-surfaced twin:

Pale bright green, every sparkle that unwinds

From the centre, arcing out,

Each to its own Nirvana-webb’d route.

Swinging to and fro on

God’s invisible parachute cords.

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In a moment the traffic will move me beyond:

This tree will never be seen this way again.

Image result for weeping willow spring


And mind-numbingly circuitous;

This trip-wire, trap-doored, prat-fall

Journey from the flea-pit deeps,

Where the cold dry winds blow.

Every delaying hold up is

Another new, last-legs rotunda circus,

Tattered-flag finery and faded big-top

Under which failing, falling, flailing clowns

Try vainly to disguise the unholy, unnatural stink

Of humiliated animals, onlookers and voyagers.

Beasts all; we queue, hoping for so much

On days like these, fearful of

Missing, of falling faster behind,

Missing that one important sign

That will send us to glory.