aquarelle

aquarelle

aquarelle
The wind’s violin danced me on and upwards…

hereabouts
it began,
the coming to
whatever was around
me, the step in of sun
through glass,
the scrawled
stick-voices of birds
in the hedge,
and scratchings of their
feet on iron roof,
the tastes bright as
formica, the touches
on leaves, a nose
into flowers,
and later,
whichever way
to school you took
a steep run uphill,
the wind’s violin
at your back dancing
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trenched in

trenched in
   to my grandfather, William ‘Pop’ Rumble

Ypres
Soldiers of an Australian artillery brigade passing through Chateau Wood, 29 October 1917. From the Australian War Memorial collection

you went to
‘the war’,
you came back.
there were i
heard from mum
just once
places in your
mind you never
trod in day
though nights
might wake in them
caught in mud
the screaming of
men and shell.
the least said
you would have
lesser, so the less
she told us.
you kept the
war from us,
a good soldier
to the core,
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flake difference

flake difference

flake
Acknowledgements to chemistryworld.com for the use of this image, attributed on their site to Shuttercock

snowflakes
they said
every one
is different
ever was
ever will be
looked at
some on the
tip of my
glove believed
it so though
not in my eyes’
unravel
my breath ‘ad
already turned
them to droplets
gone into
the weave
of thread

they show
you pictures
in books of the
difference plain
between crystal arms
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