Silver and Gould

i was found in thought. not lost.

my two eyes, floating, above the green,

last week, lovely spring,

when the pigeons swirled down

before me,

whirling into motion

around me,

creatures of the circular skies, coloured

like cerebrums,

or mountains, or clouds, or air, turning

and counter turning toward earth (

green, like money, growing in the mud

of a banker’s machine) and

surrounding my footpath, surrounding me,

like celebrated winged confetti

at a wedding,

the scene; as calm

and as serene as a monochrome

photograph.

and i was elated, fascinated, jubilated 

where was the music? the

mystic music?

where were the lights?

the Socratic daemon?

it was like,

i was in a dream, or a movie,

or a book,

or nowhere at all that i should know,

or be,

50 of them, a 100 of them, (i didn’t count,

one doesn’t do),

but my eyes were filled with birds,

everywhere i looked there were birds,

and each little bird

was a speckled-soft-silver-flower

of light,

flickering, and fluttering,

like wild butterflies unfolding,

drawing near, and nearer, with unthreatening

presence to my face,

and i looked into their eyes, as they

flew toward mine,

i a modern man, a city dweller,

covered

with these feathery balls of blossom,

brought

down

from the trees of life,

hello there little ones, i said

and they seemed to answer

with a coo, with a coo, and a coo,

like the river may speak to some,

and the sun may seem god to the few,

and i,

like a pied piper i, i rejoiced, and

they followed

my every move,

they knew i meant no harm,

and i stepped off the village green

in Streatham town

and said goodbye-with a hand-to-head

salute,

and made my way

to the jobcentre

to sign on     

 

Reviews

[...]

. stunning poetry, monsieur ...
. breathtakingly beautiful ... especially the lines about birds ...

[Jaci]

Wow, this is just wow hun. Beautiful written scene and feeling. I completely love this write! Poetry in motion.