Verso

 

Love poem without a tune

Love song without words

Or just a glance, or a shared joke

A drawing, of an everyday subject, we knew

It was of love. 

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What is a poem

It's what you write standing in a queue

Or what you can't think out

The possibility

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Place of the Constitution

Loudspeakers around the old bell

The message must get through!

The tawny paint that adapts interior walls to exterior walls: scars.

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Blot on the landscape

The sky, the combing ploughs patterned the brown earth, white villages, proper roads.

Only to clean the scab of hippies. If you don't exploit, you don't inhabit.

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I believed, a poem

should contain three surprises.

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Bogbreath

Because inside me something is quaking

I am too acidic

Inside me is a place that used to

be something else

as the stumps show.

Black specks whirr in the pearl morning

and when the sun rises

the pines are silver, berries orange.