Monday, January 16, 2017

Robert Verdon, #420, green, reprise

dark green hall
to the metalwork room

now the stuff of dreams you always forget

behind the hallowed, hollowed stairs
with the portrait of the Strathnaver
on the first landing
which seemed old then
my parents’ brown generation

now my own
seems more decayed

dark green
government green
railway station green
green as a cemetery fence

we were heading for the stars
not slugged into submission by the unconscious sea

refined stone on a green grave
all the trees hold hands from Taiga to Amazon
fanciful as green metalwork

compulsory subject
I never liked
save for the anodised copper bowl
bright flaring blue against the green
and the strange sweet smell of cleaning rags

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