Extracts from Looking by JBP.
The impossible may have its reasons
A conumdrum of twigs and branches.
Embittered by frost, earth grows miserly.
Proverb: The spirit is willing, but the legs are short.
A Diesel tried to start, and stuck. All its teeth rattled and it brayed loudly.
An oak grumpily consented to flourish.
Shivering air imagines snow.
The grasses move in faint, wagging affirmation.
A meditation of white roses.
Rooks kark their wrangle in the wood...
A quiet ambience of old thistles.
Reduced by irony
He doubts the grace of joy,
Which vanishes in fresh gold light.
Irony's a law built-in
Deep in the womb where genes begin:
Man must lose so God can win.
The Quick and the Dead
Who is that fellow with the stick,
Halted by the shadow of a tree?
He bears no resemblance to me.
Gold sunshine plays some trick;
I'm held in shadowland to see:
Life's still living, though not 'quick'.
He struts, stiff and stringy, into the sea,
Ducks like a puppet under the strolling waves
And returns to port, his duty done.
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