Enough? By J.B. Pick.



The Last


This is my last

Gathering of words.

Age ninety is enough.

But what if I notice

Life dodging by

And no-one speaks?






White specks blow and vanish.

Snow or blossom?

Wind says "snow"

Blossom says my heart.






Things cannot vanish, but they do.

Perhaps the impossible is true,

No key will fit the designated door,

And nothing can be certain anymore?

When one day we turn and see

The forgotten absentee

Lolling where an object cannot be

We insist bad memory's the clue,

Dodge, evade and won't admit it's true -

Things cannot vanish, but they do.




Spring 2


Celandines celebrate astonishment

At having invented yellow.

A tiny bug, vocationally black

Settles on a flower to meditate.

Words attend, explore their place:

Flowers, bugs and living space.




Things (again)


Things don't co-operate,

They have games to play,

Deflate, divert, deceive, delay;

Steps trip, doors slam, windows jam,

Sleeves catch, keys don't fit,

Buttons won't go into button-holes.

Do we do it or do they?

Common-sense knows what to say

But things don't listen or obey.

Beware of logic, life is sly,

The laws of irony apply.




Incident in the Cafe


A tiny boy with sticky-out ears

Carefully drops a spoon.

His mother bends to retrieve it;

The tiny boy grabs her hair.




Snell wind


A snell wind nudges

Round corners;

"Still alive?" it says

"What for?"

"To lend snell winds

A voice,

And let short words

Find their place."






The golden ceremony of light

Celebrates the art of shadows

Which flourish with no substance and no space

And vanish without trace.




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