Shines through the trees
Like a shy girl peering through her hair.
Dancing off the willows and the trees
Ipsy wispy lowered gently to her shoulder and whispered
Like a short burst of breath. Her body trembled.
She pointed with an elongated finger and said
Have you boiled her for three quarters of an hour?
He danced around the pot, his eight legs jingling in time
With the branches clacking in the wind.
You know its better with three quarters and a tenth.
The aroma wafted through her nostrils
Of his abominable garlic breath.
Did you remember the squid?
James is still in Perth.
Syr Wynter comes in the spring as the snow melts in the field.
His frosty fingers fondled the feathers blue.
Completely distracted he gazes into the distance
As the icy stream gurgles away through the town of night and day.
It’s the winter coming into spring as a gurgle of words.
Carclew, the Arcade, Horrid Scarfe, the School and the Gaol
As you walk over the grounds the ghosts cry in you
Metal skull across shining glass
The wraithe slides between shadows
Time and time again wondering what time will bring.
Wandering around, hunting for direction, Syr Wynter sniffs the chill evening air.
Smokiness drifting towards the evening stars
And brushing over the breath of frost
The icy winds giving a chill diwn the spine
As all gather round the giant pot.
We’re all expecting a bit of
But wait! It’s only 43 past the moon.
K Raams, J O’Keefe, J Semmler March 2013