james watkin Poems

What cannot be given away
Can it be taken back?
Thus Freedom. The freely gifted.
Thus our right to possess.
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'O little! ' Beguilement
And its surprise
Are what's articulated.
Not just a size.
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Twixt doubt's sinking, and feeling low
And that, hope-expanded
Is as sky-inflated
Bordering Death's imminent wait
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No tongue of the wind, Autumn's
Loosened, abruptly
Hearing, however crudely
Spoils wren's shady rest
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Dizzying circles
Goes round he in
Sourcing back each to
Its beginning.
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No; it wont be shouted out
Through trumpeter's glee
Angel-lifted, where all can see;
Though it may surprise.
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Our musings, dreamy thought-matter
In this scottish glen
Palpable, paintable, take on
Substance; now and then.
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These wound dewed walks, ice-hung, summer's
Ever encroached upon
By sweet grasses, plenteous
Queen Anne's lace herb, prodigious,
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For the evil time to pass over
I wait; I watch; I wonder.
From whom, overtly flaunt the world's doom
Self-possessed keep to my room.
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Star-like, in what sprinkles
Their fairies, overnight
Apple's, cherry's and whortleberry's
Blooming morning delight.
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