another poem by

 another poem by

RS Thomas

how often his poems hold you

there in disbelief 

dumbstruck 

turning his words

over and over

but it never is

or will be

but somehow

we turn his page 

for him

and we fall out

autumn morn

 autumn morn

then

a rustle in the leaves 

there’s something 

in 

there 

                points >>>

the dog cocks her head

the cat crouches 

it’s a breeze

across 

my coffee and croissant 

sunlight soft

on closed eyes

inhale

there …

neolithic cave drawing

 neolithic cave drawing

palm to palm 

pass the past

a port in the storm

of the time when she drew

the dark around her

singing in the candlelight

the chase was on

down all the caves of hunting

an explanation for it all

dearth called for breakfast

 dearth called for breakfast 

at the breakfast table

a dearth of the dead

they were toast 

that wouldn’t stay down

the curse of the un-bread

the pallor of the pollarded

partly dead the party gathered

incensed by thoughts

burnt by offence

beating the table with their knives

beat  beat  beat

the food of the braying mob

was a fast breaking 

trust me i was there

the zombie with aplomb

back silvered back

 back silvered back

what mirror doesn’t insist

that you come back 

just to be sure

that a different you

is taken away

the receipts on the spike

grow as tall as the stories

in this house of mirrors

the lie is reflected

back and forth 

a perpetually adjusted tie

editing

 editing

is that splat dross

or the icing on the cake

leave it

there

lick your fingers

mmmm the muse

the muse

 tornado

those poor cars those poor cars

• video