Poetry Blog by David Andrew
on Delirium in winter: the destination of snow (Mon, 22 Dec 2014 07:17 pm)
They've come through another rubbish day
fitted like files in cabinets
of standard dimensions:
nameplate at their workstation,
the Division's phonebook.
After lunch, turning a page in life's diary,
afternoon goes by:
phones ring, birds fly to skies'
end, and back again.
Each moment not a moment too soon,
neon lights ...
Wednesday 24th December 2014 4:06 pm
Delirium in winter: the destination of snow
This snow is the dressing gown of fashionable women;
this season is the extreme hunting ground.
I have opened the back of her heart
to find nothing ticking there.
That tree was a mistake lord;
it shouldn't be green.
The walls of my house
are extremely thin.
What is the destination of snow,
it cannot be the wind?
Sunday 21st December 2014 11:03 am
This morning waking up winter cold
I witness the white morning.
Stilled in the sharp sunshine the sky crackles.
The sleeping trees creak quietly under
a sigh of snow, thus. And the children,
stunned by frost-edged windows, wonder how
the ice-etched glass mimics here estuaries,
there flowers, here stings fingers.
Very soon it's down dancing into
the garden dazed by t...
Sunday 21st December 2014 11:01 am
I met a man who wished me well,
I told that man to go to hell.
I never saw that man again.
Who'll come next to share my pain?
I met a man who wished me ill.
I find I am with that man still.
How shall I now get away,
from this cruel man who makes me stay?
Now I'm in another town,
walking alone, up and down.
(I ran away and locked the door,
so he can't find me any more.)
Sunday 21st December 2014 10:57 am