The cellar wonders
what a sky is like?
It hears the lake walk
by its shore.
And can't even begin to
imagine
the starling and
the willow-wren
whose voices are
all sunlight and shadow.
BIRD: Now there's a word.
It is proud
of its wine
such a fine
selection.
Time bottled
sun ripened.
The cellar looks with love
upon its broken things.
A pram that's seen
so many offspring
its memories
cobwebbed.
Bits of bicycles
a wheel of no spokes.
A lost wedding ring.
It laughs when
human footsteps
tentatively trip
down its steps
oblivious of the horror
movies it evokes.
Then they vanish and
the dark drips drips & drips.
The old English/French
dictionary with the snapped spine
lies open
at the entry: CLOUD.
"Hmmmm?" the cellar hmmms
intent on educating itself.
Now what can
a cloud mean.
"NUAGE!" it announces
to itself
always preferring
the French word.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 9:21 AM UTC
The cellar wonders
what a sky is like?
It hears the lake walk
by its shore.
And can't even begin to
imagine
the starling and
the willow-wren
whose voices are
all sunlight and shadow.
BIRD: Now there's a word.
It is proud
of its wine
such a fine
selection.
Time bottled
sun ripened.
The cellar looks with love
upon its broken things.
A pram that's seen
so many offspring
its memories
cobwebbed.
Bits of bicycles
a wheel of no spokes.
A lost wedding ring.
It laughs when
human footsteps
tentatively trip
down its steps
oblivious of the horror
movies it evokes.
Then they vanish and
the dark drips drips & drips.
The old English/French
dictionary with the snapped spine
lies open
at the entry: CLOUD.
"Hmmmm?" the cellar hmmms
intent on educating itself.
Now what can
a cloud mean.
"NUAGE!" it announces
to itself
always preferring
the French word.
