Weathervanes with harmonically
tuned brains, took up the call to Step Lively.  

Each one ecking, drop by drop,
To feed you silliness, to lighten your soul.

Wakey, wakey
Eat well
It's your Daddy, I mean attorney
You're really been being very bad.

If you insist, I will.
Learn obedience
or patience or something
in between,

a kernal of obedience?
I'll never promise that,
in order to give it to freely.
I was afraid to let you in.

They were menacing,
stamping us into tiny little molds.
Insistent that we are,
what they think we are.

Did they convince you
that I'd gone off and left you?

No, changing that would require
quantum amounts of convincing.
Was not mistaken that it was you,
just attacked by encroaching apiculture

That is how it felt,
How it feels, but subtler now.*
First course correction will be
the sliver of a melody,

Spreading like a depth charge.

The weathervanes
swirl snow into shimmering spirals.
The trees,
in slow rebirth,
retrogress to barren skeletons.
The cold leeches the green
from the emergent grass.

I perch atop wire farm fences
to rest my wings, to mend broken feathers;
the wind moves silence amidst the cold,
for my voice is void of song.

I see a flock flutter in the sky,
their call beckoning my flight to be one with theirs;
our voices to be one as we sing
songs of hopeful blessing
amidst nature's dissonance,
and chimes will resound from porches
and deer will drink from running waters
as if nothing has moved backward at all.

I will have a new song to sing,
as clouds break, revealing the splendor
of divine daylight.

Shadows like hurricanes
In minds like weathervanes
Dance for mockeries
While planes are listening
Words to fall away
Like earth to save someday
Pain like wandering
In shoes so weathering
Vain like celebrate
So time is circling
Shame like haunting away
Game like supposed to say
Shame the seeming gray
Wake like muttering
Climb like our day
Blame like want today
Shame like sand astray
And bells like leaves in May
Reign like start today
But fold like colors
Hold tight shudders
Mold like rubber
In homes like butler's
Of tomes like brothers
Some like flutter
While some walk others
Codes like shutters
Hopes like others
Hope for others

Head notes

Of loam fringed apple trees,
of near-but- nether fuchsia roots
A timeless travel of ridge top tiles.
Steepled spins of weathervanes,
A sobriquet of pre- dawn rainfall.

Heart notes

Of hornbeam,
of coriander deer path.
Memories of bonfire- hope
in ragwort sprays of yearning.
A hint of feelings half remembered.
Of longbows hewn from churchyard yews.
Of rope swings and of scaffold

Base notes

Of river mist.
Poseidon wreaths of furnace ash,
allied to a merlot tint of afterglow release.
Endings are, valerian,
patchouli heads of linen musk.
A lasting peace of closing lawns
that wait approaching snow.

Searching through old caves and coves
Colouring the sunset with our favourite hopes
Dreaming of the summer sun
The familiar taste of love
The feeling of being young

I think we found a seashell
But we were running out of time
Not talking about the caves
Even looking to the Ocean
Ever closer, the waves

Coming up from the banks
With retrospect and vigour
I see the signs as weathervanes
Twisted by all the directions they have been pulled

What was once a part of this story
Has gone out with the waves
Once, they came closer
Only to recede out into the depths
Of the bay

Low-lit along the coast
young boys play bones upon the stone, and the elders,
waiting for the sea, conceal their interest.
The waves are far enough to ignore
but the salt mist has lingered:
blurs the tracks about the strand made by creatures whose names you once knew;
lost now amongst the streaming lists and orchestral sounds that drown the young before bedtime.

for some time prophesy or tradition,
the journeys tracing symbols down to
the sepulchral cities that rust under water –

Sometimes bring droughts,
reveal spires and penthouses, weathervanes and aerials.
lose a notebook and die elderly gardening temples.

fear life in sustenance.

fear primordial words
that chime like glass honey traps
dull and shallow.

fear
the panoramic shots of cattle
, a great still herd shivering breakers of light,
the temporary herder, you weren’t permitted to see, chasing away baboons with long-ish strides behind you.
poetry is always chasing
and each step will always chase better,
transcribing the soughs of the meadow (or other inhuman acts)
to speak with running subtitles:
in the translation of a voice
to be some natural thing singing
like the humpback corrupting the grace of the older song
whilst tootling along the coast

Under the starry skies and the colder days, in streets lined with wrappers of Milky Ways,
Ledger lines are sidewalk cracks accentuating where the high notes are,
Hiding who the ones on the low roads are,
Shade of broken twigs too light to block rain,
Frost on the ground not thick enough to show from whence footprints came.
Electric fence invisible from self defense, next door the front yard full of rocks hides pebbles of gold,
The golden geese flew south but the wind came and told all the weathervanes that there was something in this urban forest of junk and lost dreams.
This way, they pointed, down from the north comes a city winter for this city autumn.

Sail through
air as crow

Quilled oars

paddle wind

bow beaked.

Claw leg heels
nail anchor keels.

Hollow ***** shafted
fringed weathervanes.

Plumed rudder, red
admiral of route.

Port - starboard
optical peepers
vertigo stabilisers.

Altitude latitude.

Black blinks.

Ink hued horizon.

Pawn perches
leafy land mast.

White's aurora !