UNTITLED SPAM POEM 2
---------------------------------------
Brush the lone giant in that somber pall.
By the design of our own silent eyes
and chaste, lovely as lakes to the retired men
And up there I cannot tell if it is still
Stars, the last day, endless and centerless,
What can we know of whatever picture-plane
That square—Oh, 56 x 56
Of meaning like these—the world created by
And so I gaze avidly
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
Chose to walk out of it, they'd have to pass
snoozing. A schoolgirl on vacation gapes,
They tear apart the mist, it is as though,
The edge of that other square cut from the right
Escapees from the cold work of living,
Away from their profundity of surface.
Astonished that you have returned to go
Stunned in their voiceless way to be alive
Calling me to you with wild gesturings

Dear Hal,


Really enjoyed this latest piece.
The journey through the gladed wood in winter, and the silent moves, the journey we are taken on.

What inspires you Hal?

Peter,

This poem is absolutely beautiful and possibly makes a complete bollocks of what I said about spam poetry and emotion or maybe not, as this piece seems so sad and sombre and seems to be filled with mood evoking content.
Please give it a title - which is as thoughtful as it is and you are.

Magi
xxx