No one was more surprised than I when new poems started to come. You would think I would know better, at this stage, after so many years at it. But no. You tell yourself that that is enough of that lark, foolishly believing that you are done with it, and lo and behold poems start pouring out from between your thumb and forefinger, once again.
I will be posting the odd one here, and here it shall remain, beginning with the piece below.
The title of the new collection is Say Goodbye to the Blackhills. It has been obsessing me now for quite some time. I think I had a poem published with the same title, sometime last year! I shall try to find it. But, in the meantime here is a short poem written this morning.
No Fool's Day
Talk of war fills the air.
Before you, two wood pigeon
Frolic on the upper-most branches
Of a Sycamore tree.
The scene is idyllic, they could be
Straight out of a framed tableaux
Gracing the walls of some country
Manor in Fontainebleau, or the Forbidden
Palace. Although it is almost May
The temperature is only eleven degrees.
The jet streams are circulating the artic
Via the sea currents. There is nowhere to hide.
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