Poetry

Rolling chances

How do you weave a web

if you don’t have a corner to claim as your own?

 

How do you spin the spindle

if there is no wheel or thread to be found?

 

How do you sing a note

when your voice is too worn to be heard?

 

And when do you have a chance

to raise your hand

when the forest is already crowded?

Poetry

Foward to:

I reached up towards the whispering trees to tell

of all the things I’d seen cascading upwards recently.

The distant past, stone faced, stone minded,

stone mouthed. Confronted by flat facts

that illustrate the cover of the world.

Foil lettering given to signatures on toilet paper,

topiary hedges with red painted roses

casting a dripping grin down at the green.

Light flickers behind.