A Community Network for Bowes Park and Bounds Green
Some transparencies of Spring
Some of my hopes have air in them -
Polluting and renewing;
They are inhabited by light breezes and hurricanes
Erratically, like prayer flags
On a Himalayan hillside;
A photon spectrum like daggers and gifts, like galaxies.
My hopes grow quietly after winter chills;
So many bulbs gently budding through cold earth
Trigger my cynical self, as I hold down the lid
Of the forbidden box.
I close my lips against those nuggets of despair:
Brace my sympathies against that bottomless pit,
Though in winter
Warm as mulled wine, snuggled duvets,
In spring, awaken to the scent of bluebells in a wood.
A zero size ingénue leaps over the half moon
Hazed with misty clouds
While our fair sister
Is ravaged and plundered.
Let’s crucify those trouble-makers
Whose prophets turn tables in temples.
How often can the fished men turn the other cheek?
Let them pray for those for whom
Enough is never enough;
When their darkest hour is just before the dawn.
Sneer again, you ‘I’m all right Jacks’
To everything, you turn, turn, turn,
To never see the stubborn, hopeless struggles
Of scroungers and wasters.
While on Mayday,
Pennants bluster at the village fete;
A mumming doctor feverishly searches
for another of earth’s ailments
to extract from dead St George’s belly
before his sword will rise again.
And the green frog kicks gently in the warming waters.
Exquisitely painted feathers softly fall from decoy ducks
As they arise from the ashes;
And the artists are still knocking on Pandora’s box,
They say, ‘Time to let me in.
Don’t feed me that soft soap Mother Hubbard.
It won’t wash, them trickie dickie, life cares
outta my hair.’
So I stumble, fall flat, earth gritted in my teeth,
While my bird-like kite
And tangles again, in Nina’s
Blossom on the trees
You know what I mean.
And I’m feeling good.
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