Monday 22 November 2021

sometimes

                      sometimes 


sometimes my poetry is boiling like mud 

spatulating   flatulating   bubbling

releasing puffs of sulpherated nonsense 

to no great height or beauty 

                      and

other times it is like a geyser

hot glass calm and clear blue

of inestimable depth then

                  whoosh 

a rainbow as high as the sky is

reduced on mountains in a stream

of words so cold they could cut you

                in between 

in between i wait and wait

to discover who’s pulse

the effluvia dances to

who is there   where   when

                  whoosh

we sometimes catch a glimpse 

                  whoosh

No comments:

Post a Comment