picture poem 2

Goldfinches thrill me.
The little dabs
of bright yellow, red and black
that tease
the drab around them
in sunny weather
feathers.

It was in Airdrie at in-laws
where I could go
to see them
- exotic Sri Lanka
 come to Scotland almost -

and also your fledgling home.

Your attraction was a loud crack of gunshot.
You magically appeared
blasting out all background
in tropical colours
and somehow I managed
to ruffle your feathers enough
to capture
and bring you home
these 18 years.

Till you got away from me.

Alone now
in the house I'm having to
search out
what it was
that was me. Before you.

I thrill at goldfinches.

So I've set the bait.
Put seeds in the garden
and waited right here
at my very own table.

And, little flecks of promise,
they came.

They come.

picture poem 1

Night brings ice. 

The morning finds the phone

dead

a black bone

of some dug up beast.

I keep the blinds tight

shut, the curtains snibbed

against the frigid light

outside my chilled digs.

I'm stuck.

The day already frozen. 

                                     but

I get set
and go

out to the park

and its glacial light
show. 

The grass is sugar dusted and 

leaves

fall

crackling like fire.

Water dreeps at their tips like a runny nose.

I walk on 

I see

backlit
by the low swung sun:

bright dying leaves

steaming waltzes into the air.

A thing in me moves,
caught in a right state:
thoughts slide
and melt
slide and melt
until

-tickled water
just at the boil-

comes the lift. That this

captured ice

can thaw
and give rise

right here in the dark days.

I take the image and,

rising,

follow the drift home.