Leslie Philibert

In the night the moon got stolen
lunatics shook their fists at empty heavens,
cats stared at holes in the dark night
and seas turned into lakes, tides refused,
...

As if the pale stones
share the warmth
between two sides;
sea and field cut,
...

You are the burnt map of Summer
black-edged with lost words
that make the heat a blanket
...

Early darkness; as oil we drip on tarmac,
a gathering in black fallen from the sky.
With lemon faces we shadow the next.
...

Doors moan like lovers, as compassion flows
like sick over scrubbed floors.

Controlled circumstance of pity,
...

Stones are family. They move in earth and water and are so strong
they cannot be beaten. Stones live within themselves without fear.

They change in winter through ice and in summer through sun.
...

China will be declared part of the Peoples Republic of Tibet;
Somalia will send food parcels to the Swiss and the Mexicans will build
a fence to prevent illegal immigration from the United States. There
will be a Queen in Saudi-Arabia and Pussy Riot will be elected to
...

Fat books and dead poets
Scattering in envy over my floor

Each backless like a flipped crab
...

Outside I hear the sounds of children,
the sounds do not get louder or softer,

just a small stone in the hand of a morning,
legs splayed and weak obscurely in cotton,
...

There are many questions that worry mankind
Has Katie`s sister got a lovely behind?
Is there life on Mars? , or even in the States?
Will Obama and the Iranians ever be mates?
...

Working the wet earth,
bonded by standing water, as expected
I do not find ghosts,
but a layer of small stones and black roots.
...

A forest without moonlight
A moon with no light
If there would be moonlight
there would be the shapes of trees.
...

How can I
go forward to Spring
when you left me
in Winter?
...

Exactly the right colour, the perfect amount of milk
one of Mum`s specials, as we gathered round the table
in the kitchen and put the pictures together,
the blue lights and the friendly doctor, who asked
...

A carriage full of dried moths, faces sour with old leather,
a midnight softness, perhaps a glass in water, slowly,

and you speak of love in the conjunctive,
...

Two rooms at night
One light, one dark
But both full of stars
...

as wood is grey and bricks red dust
fallen beams church each space
as pigeons dance under slate
...

The snow in the courtyard brings
a new shape each day; no sense in the melting,
but I have not attended to this.
A girl waiting at a station, with smiles.
...

The Alps make me embryonic,
the King of sleep, the wind
a sea inside my ears;
...

strong breezes in a familiar house,
corridors full of leaves
torn curtains across broken windows,

mirror face.
...