Three Poems by Gordon Scapens

A MEASURE OF WINTER


The fall of water

stiffens to ice.

Playtime is finished,

its merriment stolen

along with its dance.



The freeze consumes

the thrash of stream,

a threat carried out,

a speech of intent

without an answer

ending dreams of travel.

Water music has died.



But re-awakening is coming

in the shape of sun flirting

higher in the sky each day

as Spring brings its news,

the debt to time is paid.



Meanwhile I admire the artistry

of this uncompromising season

whose time is limited,

and this measure of winter

I’ll carry like a gift in my mind

to tell the story

of Nature’s improvised, silent jazz.

A three dimensional poem.



BEING HUMAN


They come seeking a new life.

Four ants at first, feverish

to dress the contours of my kitchen

with dreams of a working colony.



Next morning a horde arrives,

shedding faith in the past,

arranging the marching pattern

into a language for invaders.



The dilemma stares at me

like an overdue bill

and tolerance is only a skin

that peels off on demand.



Aliens, not of my world

what conspiracy brings them?

Why didn’t they understand

conditions of a previous home?



I can’t share space this way

and panic has no patience.

I use insect spray, a solution

that doesn’t ask questions.



But, my own rights diminished,

the can reeks of accusation.

In an uncertain hand

it feels as heavy as guilt.



YOU’LL KNOW


You’ll recognize a word

that speaks your life

in the space of a second,



acknowledge eyes that fill time

with a new moving story

through the midnight hour.



a silence will be gifted

that peels your face

to a readable book,



and a touch explaining

yesterday’s promise

is not out of date.



You’ll react to an absence

knocking down your days

in a game of skittles,



admit to those secret tears

that fit well enough

to be made-to- measure.



You’ll know when

and be willing

to accept the price.

Gordon Scapens - Widely published over many years in numerous magazines, journals ,anthologies and competitions. Currently preparing a collection. Lives in a suburb of Preston with his wife, who’s friend, critic, muse and editor. Plays acoustic guitar averagely to her singing.