Stay in the loop and register for email updates about events, competitions and all things poetry.
Stay in the loop and register for email updates about events, competitions and all things poetry.
Never more than a blink away
from first things ... It seems only today
that Washing Machine Dreaming
opened its timeless tracts to me,
its spiral galaxy
expanding at nine hundred revs per minute
like a brisk shake from the One Dog
back from splashing in eternity.
It’s a whorl in the long grass
where a little twister did its pirouette
or the same Dog, in its next-door’s
yappy spaniel form,
turned three times widdershins
with its every ancestor on great savannahs
where it goes to dream
and we are no more
than a smudge of smoke
on the horizon
From The Rialto No 66 (Spring 2009)