C Richard Miles Poems

Coruscating through the ethereal, pastel blue,
A more electric, sapphire-glinting hue,
That picador in rich bejewelled cloak,
Befeathered huntsman of the crystal brook,
...

So deep, deep down, in caverns underground
In Mossdale Caves in Yorkshire, comes the cry:
We are the lost; we never will be found.
...

In the hushed, still hourglass of eternity,
Sifting softly, we trickle, timelessly,
Fine as thistledown on whispered air,
Silent sandgrain specks of misty nothingness
...

Once dire, divided city, split no more
To founder in that frightful, murderous mire
Where slaughter would pursue each vain escape
As rank estrangement seemed to lend no scope
...

I wish I were a troglodyte;
I wouldn’t worry what to write.
I’d scrape and scribble, scratch and scrawl
My musings on cool cavern’s wall.
...

I cannot find my glasticles;
I cannot find my specs.
I’ll have to find ’em fast because
I need to write some cheques.
...

And another light flicked off
And shone out no more, silent,
Its neurone circuits broken, bent,
Filigree filament failed and fused,
...

I watched the petrol
By the pavement-edge
As I waited for my bus
Where, by the parallels
...

Those lofty arches stand at lonely Ribblehead
And frame stark, captured snapshots of bleak, windswept moor
Where fluttering cotton grass waves over labourers dead,
Who for years did toil, limbs aching long and sore,
...

I am your city but, blindly, you do not hear me.
You walk my streets; your transport clogs my veins.
I gently grumble but, frightened, you do not fear me.
You eat my food; you ditch the used remains.
...