Tag Archives: poem

Fall Fell

Fridayam's Blog

Fall fell through the

crack in the floorboards, and we

tore them up, desperate to

stave off Winter.

Maybe we could burn them

if we cannot find that

lost shiny coin, our

last memory of Summer?

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Mongrels

We are all mongrels:

our genes all spent time

somewhere else, on

cold tundra, windswept

steppe, damp jungle,

hot savannah, in

bogs or genteel shires,

cantonments or kraals; on

Viking ships or galleons,

slavers or dugout canoes we

spent ourselves about the world so

not one of us is pure.

Life Curves

Life Curve

I knew behind those clouds were

stars, just the ones I could see, and

behind them stars and stars and

yet more stars

 

but so what when

life is almost but

not quite, close but

no cigar? Well maybe

 

half-empty or half-full

life curves away from

mystery to the

stone kicked, the

 

moment we have all felt when

our dreams must

give way to a

different reality.

This Aye Night

I heard the first fleeing geese

this evening at 7 pm under

reddening skies, Sunday

September 16th, 2018.

 

Why am I so precise? Well

it was a warm day, one of

many and no threat of

change to weather or forage.

 

It might have been some subliminal call

triggered by the approaching equinox, or

maybe just one goose panicked,

honked out, “Quick, let’s go!”.

 

And we know how panic grows at the

thought of being left alone with

night falling and a

long way to go.

 

At a quarter to eleven this

same night I heard a fox bark or

perhaps a dog barking at the

thought of a fox.

 

Moths

The long Summer, the open door, light

make my kitchen a

moths cathedral, or rather

their mausoleum.

 

They fluster round my fingers when

once they used to

make me quail and

swat and kill.

 

So fears once ferocious pass with the

sough of a soft wing amidst these

fragile carapaces, these

powdery lost souls.

“Las Meninas”

Perhaps when all is quiet

I can make a start

when the maids have

stopped their fussing and the

Infanta has stopped her tears and the

hangers-on hushed out and the

hound cajoled with a kick from

somnolence to stridour but

whilst I wait for your

Majesties pleasure I can

at least paint that writhing

waiting moment before my

painting is painted.

Encores

There are those who seek to

hustle Summer off the stage like a

blown act before the

boos set in but the audience

claps and whistles for

encores whilst Autumn

stamps its foot in the wings

impatient to perform.

Vapour

I live in a quiet country so

I’ve never felt an earthquake or

fled uphill from a tsunami

never feared a forest fire and the

ground being so porous here

never fretted about floods

however dense the downpours yet

fear surrounds me like a

vapour I can’t seem to escape or

shrug off like a blanket too many

on a sticky night.

Moontide

Moon window

Sometimes my house trembles

with the weight of the

Moon passing over

lifting it like a

tide of bricks and

dust.

Binary System

If all we are is stars, is

she then a supernova, he a

brown dwarf, they an

inchoate mass of gas

about to ignite, and is our

binary system stable or

unravelling into those

beautiful gaseous strands

beloved of those who

observe cosmic catastrophes?

Diana Marin

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