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Alastair Fenn Feb 2019
out of the window
heat merged in white
and there’s nothing I want
the world to supply
or take from me now
I’ve opened my eyes

     she locks the door
     and knows the way she’s moving
     and we both know this is all
     that’s keeping us from leaving
     as we go down to the floor

           (now I see, as it gets dark
            and she’s away, I’m in the room,
            there’s nothing here of what was then
            except these facts I’ve placed in lines
            and keeping hold of what we’ve had; and her return
            and only that)

there’s nothing that I care for
but resumption of these feelings
and will throw the things I promised
far from any stretch of reason

and let them be discovered
by whoever wants to see them
and broke open
as I listen to her breathing
A late teenage poem from a long time ago now.
Alastair Fenn Jan 2019
If ever the world gets you down
your pet will still be your best friend;
they’re joyful and wild
and with big doleful eyes
their love never comes to an end.

Your pets will not hide how they feel
or lock up their hearts in a box
they’re loyal and gentle
polite and respectful:
they’re everything humans are not.
One more children's verse; back to more gloomy output after this!
Alastair Fenn Jan 2019
If anyone suggests that you keep
your eyes on their pets for a day
before you agree check their pedigree
and see if they’re wild or they’re tame.

Ask them to tidy your room
or set up the table for dinner;
if with roaring and noise they eat your soft toys
you probably should reconsider.

For the snarling beyond the locked door
there may be a straightforward reason;
to be on the safe side put your brother inside
and see if he ends up eaten.
A poem for children.
Alastair Fenn Jan 2019
the rain's melting glass
moulding our views
and moving intentions
to rooms where it started

in grey skies and days
gripping tightly as tea melts between
afternoon darkness

the city at evening
turned pines into curtains
drifting on branches

and in sudden still we walked out between them
in tunnels so soft words can't escape we
shook them together
the snow freezing down
between coatings inside the stitched cotton
we're both waiting there as cars drive below

the rain's melting glass
and scatters through streets
and cracks in the frame
are beginning to show

— The End —