intelligentplayground

Winged Thoughts in the Age of Air

Month: September, 2016

Reconnaissance

acorn-1

Standing on the roots barefoot
embrace engine-housings
equipment of thrust.

Holding onto the trunk, airborne
be guided by the rocketry
into deep space.

Behind the sky discover
a small feather awning
canopy for a luminous acorn

The glade exactly as you left it
ready for another landing
in the faraway.

small-feather

If the Clock had a Rooster’s Cry

rooster

If the clock had a rooster’s cry
time would no longer fly.

Long ago he lost his wings
so the alarm he sings

Kicks-off mechanically
not lyrically

Yet the cockerel of the roofscape
gives time a softer shape.

Down-to-earth among the other birds
he hasn’t many fine words.

The simple clockwork song he’s got
is punctual, but not on the dot.

Days which began at distant cock-crow
had a pace andante-slow.

Dawn was phased from vale to vale
now Satan’s in the detail.

Time pecks impatient at brittle shell
chanticleer’s an old tale to tell:

The sun is up, that proud rooster red;
and gently the world’s out of bed.

rooster2

Pull Down the Hood

hawk

Pull down the hood
so the hawk can remember
his flight over the hill.

The Sunbank (The Poet, to win back his Love, boasts of his Wealth.)

golddoors2

That dazzling sun
in a wide-open sky:
the banking-house where
my gold is sealed.

At dawn magnifying
daystar with psalms
I draw from heart’s
brilliant vaults;

Noonward disappear
into woods and dells
dappled forestland
withdrawn and sad.

What I love is water’s
silver sparkling gold
a bright-eyed bird
in the dark glade.

At sunset, when
the solar bank closes
I place something
in my eternal account

Solid work done
under the interior sky
stored away from
illiterate darkness.

Good poems are drafts
pay-to-the-bearer
cheques made out for
billions, trillions.

I pass a bad one
from time-to-time:
anti-civilian reflex.
It doesn’t matter.

No thief has ever
robbed or defrauded
that treasure-house:
masterplans go wrong.

A run on my sunbank
will never happen.
Reserves are infinite
non-fractional.

Behind gold doors
closed by fiery swords
beautiful fountain-pens
line counters, unchained.

Take one, engrave
your signature in light
illuminate the world
with your name.

Alarms of the super-rich

alarm

Alarms of the super-rich
whiny voices shrilling
high on the wall.

Changing a Tire

 

 

tire

Changing a tire
on the wheel of fortune
just after the blowout.