Suggests hidden, just enough, seed, growing --- ‘Tyranny wouldend and every hair on your head become an oracle.’ Rumi
Stories from a train
Begin with context
(from an inner blank), all you’ve got
these last few days.
Open your mouth and start
to talk. Waggle your tongue and grate
a larynx, poke an index finger
away from the dyke and let out a flood;
a torrent of words that finally, finally,
finally, will have their say.
Winter: central heating;
Spring: try garden wall;
Summer: where you’ve been;
Autumn: snow and branches start to fall.
More fleeting than characters in any book,
twaddle-words fly fast and empty
up to a hole-in-the-sky without the need
for smoke and mirrors, or an aching heart.
Double Word
Writing a poem’s
like playing Scrabble; letters
have shape and value.
Everest
I
produce
hair on the
front of my eye-
brows I put there
for no reason I see
that it’s utterly futile
but still I sprout a small mane
maybe only because
I can when I choose
grow and inflate
to co-create
a moon
star
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