Michael Shepherd Poems

Poetry was something else

written by others
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Inside the body
is a little place.

you could say that
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So much has travelled from the East to West
that it’s surprising that those three great forces
which the Indians knew so well, are not
in Western consciousness; they tell so much;
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It’s a lovely old-fashioned tea-room
in one of those rare up-town hotels
that’s still a family concern; well-run,
staff been there for years; prices
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Has music gone from poetry?
Words and music, still agree?
Dance and rhythm, song and laughter,
Do they echo, now, hereafter..?
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The cry of the stork echoes
from the cold cliff where the mist
is clearing for an hour or two
this winter morning
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The old pine tree
leans out from the rocks
over the still lake
with respect
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Better new kindling
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Hopes – that soar –
like kites in wind -
above the truth –
with wishes – twisting
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Like a favourite vase,
newly washed, saying
I'm beautiful as I am,
empty yet shining,
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