We cut under that first mist
[above her swimming ditch]
as other walkers walked [as
if blind]/ That laundry-stink
from Himalayan balsam is an
alien scent alongside her – I
let her loose again – to swim
Tag: nature
I Fear Quantum Entanglement
Quantum entanglement stumped
Einstein – Albert’s atomic mess &
particle debates – we haven’t any
idea – twins separated but stuck/
Lovers – undo-able – living hell in
split localities & love songs faster
than light – such unbearable stuff
in ink – in print – in doubt [yet still
bombs were made]/ A secret art –
quantum physics best left to Bell
& west coast hippies looking to a
mystical connection with eastern
philosophies/ Or not [set by God]
Do not enrage that spooky beast
[or wave off ideas by Mr Einstein]
A Fox Replaced
A fox replaced my dog
[momentarily] below a
hood of low brambles/
I took that uneven path
around my youngest’s
school to avoid fools &
cars – a quiet dog walk
but underlined – now –
by that beaked snout –
slouch of red pelt near
to Scout’s colour – spit
of white tips too/ Low &
mean in her halt as she
looked me up & down –
a bitch – I know vixens
After Lockdown
My walking stick whistles
[but I cannot]/ We are met
by ire-blue clouds – hefted
& sullen in gestation – sick
of their sour discomfort &
weight – brushwork inks &
greets hard from her stain
above us & hail hits us – it
stings skin on Firle Beacon
finding ice-stoned sinners –
a sheep pen & spiky patch
of brambles is a salvation/
A battered cyclist wobbles
past [his lycra-skin too thin
to shield him]/ Dog owners
bend as their pets lag [This
squall was never forecast!]
We forget God is covetous
& not one to bow to orders
from torpid meteorologists
droning in air-less studios/
My walking stick whistles –
a note blown across height
adjustment holes – but I do
not/ Frore-misery urges us
to a warm pub’s profanities
[where ice is better served]
& here I’ll warm your hands
& we will plan our re-routed
way – furores’ll not stop us –
we walk on [& to anywhere]
Attenborough and the Giant Egg
An island’s evidence [pitted – rimrose]
lies strewed between deserts & roads –
as if scattered wide by petulant thugs/
They infer hellacious avians feeding on
everything! – held in scythe-sized talons
& other such asinine stories trolled to
travellers waving tourist-green dollars/
Their eggs – hacked to shards [almost
aged vases] now a cracked paradox of
parts – too widely cast to dig up quick
answers for Sir David Attenborough or
others with questions [& audiences to
thrill]/ Madagascar remains a blast for
khaki-shorteds & battered Landrovers
whilst fady fables unsettle local heads
who will whisper elephant bird stories
on & on [Fear was man’s earliest mace
but giant eggs filled his ravenous face]