Leslie Philibert Poems

the sky sunk low to the sea
wet towels slapping in the wind
young bathers
sea-eyed and water-faced
...

Two roads emerged in poetic mood
So standing here in pensive truss
Could walk down both, or run right back
Or even take another track
...

When the silence is as taut as a violin string
the rest awaits as you climb past the invitation
of an open window, your day in shopping bags
...

A bird has
changed its body,
downgraded to
...

Lights in dark,
a turning plough;
tube of tin and roar
...

Houses of green water have risen before him,
of sickening height, dirty with anger, full of foam.

But he will not yet denounce his magic
but listen to what the thunder speaks
...

She hops like a sparrow between desks,
picking words like crumbs off the thick, silent carpet and

works in a aquarium, the colourless fish that
...

The first six days;
a cold stage
waiting for snowdrop
...

Not about the way
you spread your fingers across your mouth,
playing shocked, then laughing.
...

Water seeks a simple path, thoughtless
lines in the softer ground, a rushing

tumult of water and stones breaking
...