Coiled, grey March –snow patches slow to disperse on the townscape -
trying to turn the year.
A grey plume drifts through the low sky, like smoke but not smoke,
slow to disperse
reforming and palping like a long streak of foam on the sea; a grubby bag
turning, plastic and drifting
dividing in the sky: a shifting exclamation mark pulls out of shape
turns pale to vanishing, is gone.  
A sound like pages riffling, like a thousand paper fans rustling, a darkening in the air
turning in the low light all together
wheeling , breaking, re-combining, stretching again.  Sky geometry.
Still that dry whisper-clustering
of many wings holding close formation, turning and swooping together.
The cloud is back, is gone, is back again – endlessly
The grey light feels unnaturally late
above the Eagle Rec
starlings are moulding shapes, most beautiful murmuration.
The complex maths of defence – stay close, stay close –
turn, wheel, stay close.
Against the pale dusk the moment stretches beyond bearing,
that high, remote plasticity floats on as the light hesitates
dragging out the turn towards darkness.
The hawk must be near, striking into the crowd -
spin, turn on a wing-tip, wheel close, divide and turn: with luck
she will take your neighbour.
The black bunched crowd drops as one, to roost, to rest.

Away From Them

I like to get away to the hills and mountains

For there I feel free and have no worries

There is no stress or crazy demands up there

Only localised dangers like getting lost or falling

These can be planned for and precautions taken

Unlike the bitter backstabing people in the cities

Not to mention the overpaid lazy bosses busting our *****

When out among nature I am part of it and belong

Not trapped in a concrete townscape and choking traffic fumes

I look up at the blue sky and marvel at the views

Miles and miles of nothing but greenery there before me

The pain of aching legs and sore feet is worh this

Being at the top of an 800 metre mountain

For a few hours of timeless freedom and smiles

This little moment is priceless...

Under unruly layers of chaotic disquietude that pile up in hordes
from circulating swarms
now towers
All across the back alley landscape of my mental chronology
Finding contemplation by manipulating hesitation
Ego deaths laid to rest delivering an effort of awareness
through reflection and forethought

Within the in between of each ascending rise is all there was and ever will be linking heart brain and belly
breeding Individual Introspection

A moment of Panic brought on by dis-ease or disease sent panic through my minds townscape
A thought popped up flashing hypotheticals and a screaming
curiosity until picked up by blowing winds
under bridges
In between streets with row houses
I chased down this thought about what would happen if this occurrence came forward with fruition while the likelihood remains:
See no
Hear no
Speak no
Heart no
Think no
Breathe no
If she feels the day
That she might have been distant too much
Let these offerings of continued assistance take their place in loves lost memory
And with that realization her hands call her other
Only to find his cat has runaway into the wild lands
And taking time to retrieve her call
Like the ones he dialed so many times to no avail
Is the last thing on his minds lists and it’s been stacked over and bulldozed into a rubble mound at the city dump out by the forgotten highway where even the blind don’t even drive on anymore