apad 1

Yes I know it is late, but then the poem is about something that happened the day before that so perhaps it all fits


There is a long, low rumble
as the sky comes unfastened
and there is deluge of water...
that brings out a colourful
cornucopia of umbrellas
twirling, colours overlapping,
held tight by hands praying along
the handles for dryness.

Except for one umbrella, black
and bouncing from
curb to cub free from
everything except the
brisk wind of Spring.

apad 2016

APAD 2

The streets are small globes, ineffective
under the monochrome passing of
day to night, various greys and blacks...
the sky full of clouds scuttled by windstream
hard and fast enough to create a soundtrack
using rooftiles and the flotsam and jetsam
that float on the streets, the dry rivers of the city,.

Or are the streetlights ineffective because
they are distracted by past existences as
gasllamps glowing soft in union with the night
counterpoints that flicker as horses and
people carry the new century's hopes and dreams
into the flow of a monochrome passing of
day to night and in time back again.