Friday, 17 January 2014


The times are not simple; poets able
must eschew clarity and humble sense

and essay something more, hmmm, unhumable.
Death must not be death alone but give offence.

The blackbirds’ nest plundered by a magpie
on the lookout for glinting chickseye.

The eyeless chicks turfed out and taken by
a soft furred fox, healthy, protected, sly.

But one must not draw conclusions. Even
speculation is questionable, Steven.

Poetry police’re behind the heather,
helmets glinting. Unclouded weather:

we remain not invisible. It is clear
the world’s back-to-front, as in a mirror.

Wynn Wheldon

May 2012

This poem was first published in The Rialto (no. 76) at the end of 2012

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