Angle VI - original poetry

richardjuckes (65)in #poetry • 8 years ago

The wren, cocksure, swore at the cat. The cat
blushed and retreated with hate in its heart :
puss, pusskins, the inadequate tyger,
purring for milk round soft morning feet.

And all your thus’s and yr thences prove
nothing. An yr fine thoughts mislead us all :
I have to work with the assumption that
all these words from books have some meaning

and my memories of the birds, rivers
and trees of home and these night-time insects,
this sleepless night, another motorbike
passing, have some purpose : what else to do?

Of the old church the spire and the roofless walls
are left : in the silence a wren sings.