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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