The Green Woodpecker
The Cuckoo-Thunder broke on Spring Bank Brink
and scattered urinaceous droppings of a sudden
coming green. The zephyr
caught into a meteoric shape
here culminates, brings these, and leaves
a spectral virid trail
of amber glass and greenish vitrine.
Meanwhile the green woodpecker that had seemed rare had multiplied as though to rival magpie, before again in some few years had almost disappeared, and out local cuckoos failed, the peewit flocks depleted, while (on the other hand) roe deer and the nuisance muntjac might occasionally appear (I even saw a wallaby one year). And such witness reports distract us from the op-ed comment columns on our perennially awful governments so drear. Now later on and thinking about pensions one might reckon up how many springs there may be left to savour, sup, sup up, and leave to suffer as the ghost of flesh bereft. I’m sorry. You have caught me codding. This is not a very helpful note.
[THE GREEN WOODPECKER....]
Within the fabrication of a life
a sudden breath takes like a kite,
a cold cloud warming rises to a height
along the edge and that evaporates
like laughs at a disaster.
Then it comes. Ephemeral Pontificate!
Picus Viridis! Updraughted
with a farfetched laughing cry
has me you know like reconciled
consoled and no less silly.
Back to Mid Life Notes