Tuesday, February 28, 2017


Now January's snows that lately shone
Splendid and abstract under brittle skies
Have shrunk to grey and dessicated shreds
In corners of high fields. And winter's runt,
The small transparent February, comes
And shivers on the very season's edge.
Still bites the bitter frost, the splintered rain
Yet scores the face of winter, but a pale
Reflected sun gleams wanly on the spread
Of milky waters when the spasms cease.
Deep in the breathing earth a current hums;
Its faint insistent signals are received,
Transformed, relayed and broadcast sheer and stark
In frenzied outburst of the early lark.

(Joyce Williams)

Or the darkling thrush. As February shifts between its two colour-ways: bloomgrey and sun.

And the catkins adorn green gold the edges of the wood,

Within the wood's shelter a sapling is even leafing.

The fox disappears up a neighbour's garden path.

One of the unshaven men with disparate eyes, they all live in that part of the estate, leaned his bike.

The cat sunned beside the van wheel. I unlocked. The cat stalked to a gate.

Night sleet.  Windscreen wet spats wiping redrawn. It spats less. It spats more. Where is Sean Pemberton?
They noticed the white clouds over the town at night. They separated. He smoked. He noticed the puddles reflecting streetlights.

The slim elm shape burst with black flowers, back of a length.

He ran walked caught you put his arm around you rubbed your shoulder We'll warm up soon. They marched as night falls later now noticed the late keys in the ash overhead. They queued ordered ate drank remembered wept sat rose washed crossed strode grabbed looked chose paid packed left.

Pane. Raindrops. J2O bottles. We are stretching invisibly.

Complicated whisper cloudscape. Shred-patterns. Arrangements. We don't want to fill it all in. Stop thinking.

The woman walks quickly to her car. Walking the woman opens her bag and finds keys that jingle. The car lights up at the corners.

The wind wombs and the wind wears woollen looms. Which side of the house we opened we closed the skylights?

Headlights in the day. The seagull glided.

The beautiful branches and saplings. The olive grey woodlands with their scant tinsel.

Lonicera fragrantissima (19th February, 2017)



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