Leslie Philibert Poems

You do not expect glass to burn,
letting out the fire trapped in panes
white light having been caught before.
But it does.
...

The Moon has fine blue lines,
paper skinned and cow faced,
jealous of stars.
...

Let me be healed in the sea wash,
late waves, back water

that curls under the Moon.
...

Sometimes his false teeth fell out as he ate
his sandwiches in the tea-break; but he had
the laughing eyes of a barrow boy and the
stride of Goliath. He liked a pint after work
...

I don`t care at all about what you do with my poems.

You can steal them, laugh at them or cut them up to make
blackmail letters for your boss. You can eat them or smoke them
as long as you first bake the verses for two hours.
...

A crow motionless in a field of snow;
burnt paper in the cold morning ash.

The dead locked into the frozen earth;
...

My father is language; my mother speech
and I am many words, yet

when I talk to you there are commas,
a phrase turning with a semicolon, a dash -
...

a bent silence
unattended the darkness
subtle through the hours

a white-horse star astray
...

An island full of shapes,
patterns full of bricks and numbers
and the thin voice of a bird
...

Old Herbert, hater of the feline species
Nearly got one at twenty feet with a schnapps bottle;
these hairy rats piss on my cauliflowers
he winded through yellow molars.
...