Eiderdown

Eiderdown

The wind brings with her

cloud after cloud, each calling

in turn with a draught at the door

to sweetly kiss my cheek

and bid me peace on the breeze,

for theirs is but a fleeting visit,

full of vows

that this October will be different, darling.

The faint figure of a single starling,

black at a distance, seen closer

with a gloss of purples and greens,

fast in flight, impeded by mistrals

on its route to the roosting site

where a mass murmuration

warms its wings on winter nights.

I watch from my window,

not yet convinced by the change in weather.

Plucking Rainbows

Plucking Rainbows

Are you blue as the sky in sunlight

or blue as the depths of the ocean floor,

Are you red like the sky at night

(shepherds delight)

or red like strips of blood on ice,

a baby seal clubbed to the head

so someone else can wear its colours,

Whose team would you support,

(loyal to the end),

and when we’re running colours

how do we make the ground white again?

Plucking rainbows

will not cover the black soot

staining our souls

when you peel back your layers

and freeze to death

before you burn in Hell

for stealing Mother Nature’s colours.