in which I read the moon

book cast aside, gazing instead

at this clouded light and dappled

face staring down through the window

unmoving, solemn, thinned with hollow

cheeks and brow drawn back towards

the dark. i read moon with my own

metaphors. this is simply a solid rock face

travelling in tandem with time. but therein

grow words

 

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Cloud Carpet

Air hung heavy on a day rounding

records for climate changing. You

see how apricot the frangipanis

open?  How gaura petals float

like the carpet above? Clouds move

in, cirrocumulus as far as wind

can swing. And like soft treads

the patch breathes

 

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Colour

my palette, paled under

the false light of obfuscation,

a bureaucrat’s penstroke

of directives. Colour it

the sunset cocktail

western reflections flitting

between skyscrapers and clouds

so that the east shone a hue

of Blakean presence

 

such tiger-orange clouds

that grasped reality

I could not wait for words

I snapped

I reached for the ubiquitous

phone and snapped, I snapped

just to add colour. Amid the traffic

how I could roar, roar away

the work day

 

 

 

 

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