Flight to Paradise
First published/2019 Summer, Metverse Muse, India
Consumed through flight-path carriage one last time,
in draught-entombing flutter rail-caught flow,
it landed - on his shoulder - jewelled/sublime;
brushed off, obliquely, shades of vibrant glow.
All black and red and white tattooed too well,
red admiral’s warped navigation-waste;
it landed spent and still, keel-hauled in spell:
antenna twitching, gut wrenched out as paste.
The post-box window-frame foretold its doom,
crushed stiff and lifeless, wings closed evermore.
No tissue-sheltered rescue stationed gloom,
stopped without signal’s green-sight twitch, before
its fluttered paradise of wings so bright
on railway table morgue, bearing no more light.
Suncatchers in Broad Daylight
The kindness of strangers is random,
catching surprise – like sunshine – as fireflies in broad daylight.
Demanding nothing but gracious acceptance; even, a smile.
Can you cope with the kindness of friends?
They know what’s inside, watch the gift unwrapped,
act stagecraft-wise like they want nothing in return.
But you know, don’t you, they know every nuance
of your acceptance; your history; what you hate.
Kindness from enemies takes consideration,
calculation. Why? How? When? They could, possibly,
become friends.
Can you, honestly, copy that? Consequences…?
David (Pantoum)
I dreamed of you from time to time, to brood,
remembered handsome lecturer/deep voice,
yet always hard forgetting something good.
Leaving for the North a personal choice.
Remembered handsome lecturer/deep voice/
Theology/Classical Greek allowed
leaving for the North as personal choice.
The Midlands lost out. Sermons always wowed.
Theology, Classical Greek, allowed
no pause for thought – nor Wogan – on the airwaves.
The Midlands lost out (sermons always wowed).
Wrote books/appeared on TV/Christian raves…
No pause for thought (nor Wogan on the airwaves),
considerate of time and Christian beauty.
Wrote books, appeared on TV, Christian raves.
Principal of ministers’ simple duty.
Considerate of time and Christian beauty,
to weep with those that mourned, travelled ahead.
Principal of ministers, simple duty:
ex-student asked your offices for the dead.
To weep with those that mourned, travelled ahead,
yet always hard forgetting something good.
Ex-student asked your offices for the dead.
I dreamed of you from time to time, to brood.
Mooring a Voice Diamond-Bright in Norfolk
I have seen the Koh-i-Noor in my lover’s eyes,
heard the merman howl like Atlantis drowned.
Yet, magnificent in beauty, cannot describe
the family beached and playing in the sands
of time, where once a mermaid splashed and trod
ashore, before her prince breathed in that mirror
to buff her beloved face to breathe/to shine.
A lovely voice, Persephone-bright and plain.
See those daffodils? They do not belong
in Dora’s Field, nor Ullswater,
anywhere. Except, ashore
where broads have gone to wherry.
A Koh-i-Noor’s many-splintered paths and puddles,
remembrance of Dozmary Pool, long ago.
One castle on the sands built of flint rocks
And underside -a leech – to chill her tail.
Moated and complete, she laughed all day,
a father, daughter, son, and rickety steps
from Norfolk clifftop camping
and rumbling Combo.
Magniloquent, those rock pools berthed a mermaid.
Like the Emperor’s New Clothes,
this white elephant in the room
was declared invisible, a fiction
long before its trunk wobbled and
vanished
in a puff of gale force winds
and flicking its vanquished tail by downpour.
Not a pretty sight, imagining a corpulent royal,
rubies and diamonds brasher than mixed fruit salad,
crown jewels well hidden by overhanging voluptuousness
and strings of pearls (uncultured, obvs).
A fair description of Trump,
doubtless minus visuals.
It takes a year or two, until the empath
in the room reckons that white elephant
has dematerialised into glory of cool acceptance,
private encores on a dark night or when overtired.
No-one looks for Trump in the Anniversary
or Sympathy racks. Spin display
to eschatologise last viewing of the Emperor
fully clothed.
Should you realise the mistake,
believe the hype,
World War III could surface
(submarines on alert for word or key).
Best to suggest you’re ill,
out of sorts, finger on pulse tomorrow.
Except, always invisibly there,
like the Emperor’s New Clothes
like Trump’s lawyers or Tweets.
The white elephant triggered by:
tiny shoes
a certain
place/expression
anniversary, or smile.
Defused by daily mantra,
a hug, a kiss, or someone listening
like an
empath.
Wendy Webb
loves nature, wildlife, symmetry and form and the creative spark. Published in
Reach, Sarasvati, Quantum Leap, Crystal, Dreich, Seventh Quarry, The Journal, The
Frogmore Papers, Drawn to the Light; online in Littoral, Lothlorien, Autumn
Voices, Wildfire Words, Atlantean, Poetry Kit; broadcast Poetry Place.
Forthcoming: Amateur Gardening (14/10/23), Leicester Literary Journal. Book:
Love’s Floreloquence; Landscapes (with David Norris-Kay) from Amazon; free
downloads of other poetry from Obooko.
Love's
Floreloquence: Amazon.co.uk: Webb, Wendy Ann, Meek, CT, Meek: 9798850867003:
Books
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