BRIGHT CURLED CRISP

Autumn has definitely arrived in Devon, it should have, you cry, it's November! Well, yes it is, but it's been unseasonably warm recently. Here's a poem about the season.

AUTUMN

The leaves were leaving

right angles in the wind

bright curled crisp

they fly from the branch

Then circle as if unsure

of what to make of this word freedom

only to fall

heavier than the thought

Briefly they will jewel the pavement

Nothing to say about this poem really. This next one is another in the long line of poems about writing poems. 

It comes down to the poem shouting at you

oi! over here!

As it mimes a metaphor

that you only half appreciate

You are just the hapless scribe

whose hands are full

Recording every word

as best you can 

Again it is just a little observation. I think I am in a period of writing miniatures. Small, self contained facets of lived experience. I hope they chime with you. 

Here's Ben Webster and Oscar Peterson.

Until next time.