Michael Shepherd Poems

Spiky, a mass of spikes more threatening than sharp -
what are they fending off, what are they protecting
so fiercely with their green carapace like a thoughtful womb,
dropping their hidden beauties in reflective autumn
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and then in between remarks,
you fall silent, still, the eyes
not far away but rather,
seeing the faraway right here
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We throw them to the winds;
like water from a shower;
what wind? what shower? and who throws them to whom?
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There’s a tavern where
Prayer, Praise and Self-Discovery
meet to drink wine together.
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Here’s a painting by Rembrandt van Rijn –
mark how he bestows the light…

the light of Rembrandt’s conscious painted scenes
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This mind is full of sounds…
like Shakespeare’s island; though
no mind is like an island…
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A ‘School of..’ painting, it’s sometimes on display,
sometimes in the ‘Secondary Collection’; rather like
its subject, it’s subject to circumstances
beyond its own control. But this is no pupil’s homage
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I wouldn't want to lend
anyone my memory, these days -
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Loss can be good for us,
researchers say (Nolen-Hoeksema
and Davis,2002) – it’s called
Post-Traumatic Growth…
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The EX IT sign in the Town Hall Theatre
was lit by gas. A smell you never quite forget.
It serves to pin the memories of those other times.
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