October 20th, Noon, Lounge Poem by Af Williams

October 20th, Noon, Lounge



Lennon is alive!
He still hates milk.
He comes with music,
the bells of Hillslope hang on ginger cords,
old lettuce in garden - penny for the guy!

He tracks north to south in slow meandering movements.
He licks the underside of icebergs between frond and blade.
He knows mice tongues as his own
curious thing in search of curious things.

Beyond the medlar is invisible,
something is there beneath the root of sails
and rotting fruits of all-summer labour.

Something is there in the wetness,
the month pulped out of form and into focus.
The bells are trickling now the tap's dry.

Lennon must be skulking around the cemetery,
a requiem exudes from Pablo's patch.

Wednesday, November 20, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: cats,garden,hunting
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success