Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Wool

Wool

Hush now darling,
be very quiet, tread lightly.

Always remember,
this is an ever forgiving place:

you stand not with the judgment of flesh and silicone
but among the dreaming souls in cedars.

Chives with their pom poms, confetti coloured poppies
and glowing buttercup faces

scatter wildly,
jut up across the grassy floor.

There is no mad rush to leave this place,

as the chalk coloured leaves of arbutuses
fall like seconds from a clock,

and the fleeting strawberry red hills
hush you to sleep.

You hold reprieve here,
the universe grants some moment’s escape.

The autumnal path beneath your back turns to a soft
umber wool-

you pull it over your eyes to try and forget your role in this the
waywardly stitched world.

Nebulae

Nebulae


Star eyed child.
Each day, you resurrect the sun

it rises under your nectar thumb,

copper to yellow
it is you who brings the green, so on.

Star dusted son
with your childish sigh vivaciously veiling steel stained sky.
You blare insightful poems
with your laughter.

I imagine you- a wolf, blowing down
the blanched paper boxes containing all the lives that others lead.

You, dear young child nation
you are opaque clouds, interstellar gas, you are mindful; full of mind.

You are wordless numbered equations waiting to be worked from within.

You’re figures of future answers, collecting like flowering things,
impregnating the air with your pollen.

You’re calculated and yet amending as you go;
your meaning is expanding still.

You hold questions like torches, hold questions like
the fire itself.

I imagine you all as nebulae

explosions of reactions and actions and gem
light pours so simply, from your every pore.