C Richard Miles Poems

And are the rich so insulated as they think
Now that our stretched economy stands at the brink
Of an inviting precipice down which to plunge
That lures it to fall, till mired in grime and grunge
...

Putting Dalston on the map, the poster says
Though actually, factually, It’s already there
Though sometimes, I guess,
More or less for wrong reasons,
...

There’s a brainless crane in Dalston
With a huge, thoughtless head on long, outstretching neck
Which stares down at bored bypassers
Who wander past aimlessly, on their tired, onward trek.
...

An early start, but will the promise last?
Will new horizons shine or sudden storms
Conspire to dowse the brightness of the dawn
Of possibilities and wreak their wrath.
...

Summer raindrops splish-splash in headlong dash
On the yet-green, wet-green meadow grass
Not yet weathered into harvest-yellow carpet
Not yet battered brown, nor flattened down hard yet.
...

Some of us are pollarded:
The opportunities
Where we would branch out
Are cut back
...

And you all stare
Out at me
In black-and-white
Triplicate:
...

There was a rumpus
When Christopher Columbus
Looked at the compass
And guessed it would be best
...

Tattered shreds, now fluttering faded
Desiccated seedheads rattle out,
Like the last peppercorn in the mill,
Dust-dry echoes of memorial.
...