the width of spring

a Scotsman plays bagpipes alone in a tartan kilt

winded sounds bellow around

in front, and to the side, of Cleopatra’s needle,

small, and homesick, for Egyptian sands, in the

distance.

he leans his below against the railing and iron

engraving

of a Wordsworth poem,

standing

before

the bone white European buildings

spread out anatomically, near the Eye

that circles and sees

vistas

under sheeplike clouds

and Westminster sun.

the cohered architectonics run along a glinting river,

reflecting Hermes’s dictum  

and Apollo’s wavicles

in the restless clusters

of atomic movement

that twists and turns

like an eel, in a vein

where the Catalan’s elephant

once stood,

spindly legged, like a spider

levitating to the stars

by McDonald’s monolithic M,

arcade games, inside the hollowed out

County Hall,

and the corporate calligraphy

of the shop fronts, museums, the Zen Cafe,

the aquarium

with its windows

filled with fishes, shoals, and sharks,

where people move

in private films, and stand still in frozen

snapshots

along the south bank

below the lion’s bridge,

casting their small shadows

across cold stone,

amongst the caramel smells

of roasted chestnuts

wafting to the senses,

and the jangle

of the Scotsman’s coins

unheard, to the north

 

 

inside this city,

inside

 

 

the width of spring    

Reviews

[Audrey Howitt]

I loved this piece--its vivid descriptions--its feel--just fabulous!

[...]

. gosh ... what an intricate word-weave ...
. absolutely stunning poetry, monsieur ...
. i said wow a million times as i read ...
. the title is amazing too ...

[J.M.B]

i've left out a darn line :( will have to include it when i come back with my notepad this evening

[closed..acct]

Such wonderful imagery and detail in this write,
I really enjoyed this write.