Full Blue Circle

A summer snowing smokestack;
the confession of dust
coverlet to rooftops,
a slumberdown sky
and the reign of ash.

A minimalist palette,
pallid, submissive
enslaved by wind direction
and pulverised crustacean
kissing the air.

The grind and chank cradles
trail like giant ducklings
nose to tailing across the road,
bestowing a dusty benefit on fearful children
and their introduction
to geology,
and the arguments of chalk.



At dawn the page opens

misty white and obscuring.

The poet emerges

from the darkness of GCHQ.

Swirling  thought

begins the mist’s demise

and the phantoms of poetry

plagiarise memories.

Minutes begin their infilling pastels

and revealing shadows;

the joining of dots

and decoding of cypher.

Slowly the day rises

in versifying colour.