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Sunday, 24 March 2019

Forty Four

Take the birdsong
To the dusk
Let the warbler
Play his tune for me

Take the hillside
To the shepherd
Let the sheep
Play their song for me


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Saturday, 23 March 2019

Forty Three

On the last night
In the late light
The singers sing
Of Mack the Knife

In the late life
Of the last sight
The chorus rings
Of Mack the Knife

By the new pond
Is the old bond
The poet writes
Of clouds so high

On the old stone
As Orcadians roam
Their voices sound
Of sheep, of birds in flight


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Friday, 22 March 2019

Forty Two

One more stone on water
One more leaf down the rill
Slow passage as you fought her
Floss, off the scent on the windowsill

One flat film of still cold water
One lazy cloud in the sky
A singular path as you caught her
Gossamer flight into rye

One barbed wire, then one other
Another field beyond the field
One long journey as you brought her
The dragonfly who you thought would yield


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Thursday, 21 March 2019

Forty One

Breathe in
Feel the cool air
Sit
Feel the warm air
Breathe in, sit
Feel the cool air, feel the warm air

Breathe out
Feel the warm air
Sit
Feel the cool air
Breathe out, sit
Feel the warm air, feel the cool air

Breathe in
Feel the cool air
Sit
Feel the warm air

Breathe out
Feel the warm air
Sit
Feel the cool air

Breathe in, sit
Feel the cool air, feel the warm air
Breathe out, sit
Feel the warm air, feel the cool air


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Wednesday, 20 March 2019

Forty

Because we can shape the land
We do shape the land
Because we can hear the helicopter
We do hear the helicopter
Because we can lose the top off of the pencil
We do lose the top off of the pencil

Because we can we do
Because I can I do
Because, can, do

Because I see the shimmer on the sea
I smile, I look again, I look again
Because I see the haze on the distant hill
I smile, I look again, I look again
Because I see the birds as they warble
I smile, I look again, I look again

Actually now I listen
I listen, I hear the birds
I listen, I hear the tractor
I listen, I hear the breeze
I listen, I hear the pencil on the paper

Actually now I write
I write, I watch the shadow
I write, I find a rhythm
I write, for no one in particular
I write, to say, that I too am not discarded


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