#poem #poetry #amwriting sketchbook from my notebook 2

in displacement you plait my hair
as we share that moment of imagining
lyric in extreme - you fall as I have before

it is admiration in our jealousy
of that we feel but cannot express
with any of the capacity


on visiting the new play-centre at the methodist church -

the room has that peculiarity
fresh wood - hamster damp -
mingled emulsion laden
up lit - three coated -
only in the shadows
does the previous exist

in the faint traced lining paper
the stubble of ghosting damp
or the re-plastered ridge
which once marked the relayed pipe

one half expects to see the face of jesus
bleach sooted in a vague form
but perhaps that miracle
awaits in the soldiered toast
of snack-time


smallness grows out of iced bun crumbs
reaches over the red-faced suggar-rush
to slide grinning once more
elbows tucked tight - frictionless -
through the nylon net - thumbs raise -
to the cry of awesome


it's not raining
a single balckbird sings
at the pool's end - the weir carries -
the excess to the river

and on either side of the rool
two boys duel with water-pistols
their cries laugh
as they spray each other's belly
until the water is spent
when they cry I don't like it

and start again



now is the fallow seeding time
   of grasses bending
children with counted ribs
   dash random as swifts
   their fun frantic as butterfly wings
they stand proud as foxglove trumpets
and the laughter
   punctuates like the yellow primrose
      rising through the tawning grass


and the sun comes out
words emerge from knuckled shadow
where once the pool shimmered sky
now reflected houses ripple


one might be in paradise
secluded within this sheltered hollow
with the dash of waterfall
whiting out the traffic



The Blue Book

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