Leslie Philibert Poems

The entrance to paradise
Is the soul in a small boy
Two ruddy apples, cheeky chappie
...

Eyes shadowed with stars
The not-quite silence rests

On your bleached cheek;
...

With ice hair
standing still, your head turned,
you are viewed down, reduced
...

You knew that reason
is an apple full of mould
resting on the long grass.
and that reason
...

Light flooded into her face; a widow under a cross.
If we change at Penge we might get the 154 or 157,
or even take the train to Sydenham and walk up the hill.
The off-licence might even be open. Perhaps
...

Picking twigs out of hair; the flutter
of coats and a round of small flights,
the strands of scarves and birds
...

The bloody wax of silence ripped out
save yourself
no return ticket
...

The windows of my soul have been
sheeted; cool and soft,
white rooms and blank tiles
...

Autumn came before
I looked; trees as dry
as a moth`s dead wing.
...

Dressed in turf,
grinning with bronze teeth,
eaters of skull,
burners of abbeys
...