Tuesday, 31 July 2012

Dawn flocks

Dawn flocks

I heard a flight of ducks
or geese yammering they intruded
on my dream, sounded like
human voices a human voice
that cried help

I suspect in fact it is
a fox, that sounds like a child
crying close in the borage

Before I was woken by
the huge laugh of a crow so
near I could feel the
dampness of his
black morning feathers, hear
the thwump of his vanishing
wings that brushed my forehead
cold toes

going to the window I can see
in the first sun and the clean light
and still of morning still not
the yelping flock

in truth there are some gulls
they squabble over something over
the shimmering bristling
of grass beneath the yet
unmuddied sky still
fresh from the burning
cool of stars

I look for the fox
There is none

They die down
The many greens reveal themselves  

Monday, 16 July 2012



See the sparrow with his
little heart, little heart and little
that babbles
and ripples with notes
like smooth stone ringing
walls sheer and singing

today there is a seeming mist
from behind the trees leaves
breathing a sigh upward

from the mouth the white sky
heavy with leaves lungs

lying suckered to twigs
like something fallen from the nest

breath picked and carried by passing wind
the boreholed core that leaves
dreams skinless
in the day’s racing light

the sparrow sits
his single note on the tree tops
little lungs, little green lungs

singing to the unpainted vanishing
whiteness this morning overhead.