Feathers

The lichen thickens on
black branches, the
birds today yellow,
blue, black, white and
brown.  How grey
the pall of cloud
there is no sky today.

All those miles away
on green leather benches
the representatives sit
forgetting compromise and
consensus, forgetting
they are not individuals
but part of a body.

Here, my tooth broke
and my tongue is raw.
Bad sleep last night means
I am dopy, behind
in my tasks.  I rest
before exercise and greet
the Red Kite soaring
above the pond.

The beautiful birds, the ringing
of my prayer bell.  Being
here, a far cry from Hell.

One Year Round The Sun
Return to Collections all
next poem