To climb and climb No end in sight
The endless stairs with no handrail
No landing, place to sit
And rest
No safety features - then again
No fraying carpet, piles of stuff
On every step
And no trip hazards - not unless
It's possible to slip on starry stuck-on stars - Why not ?
- let go and slip
- why not let go
And fall into mysterious blue
Nothingness. Why not jump
Just for the hell of it - a dot
Awash in endless ocean - a microbe in between the worlds
and float away in endless
BLUE
White Light
White light is just the whole of everything - it’s just light
The whole total of colours are wrapped up as one
We only see colours when something is gone
blocked out, subtracted or never was there
And then out of the whiteness the colours appear
Violet for pansies
And indigo, too
blue as the sky in the summer - and glass
Of milk of magnesia bottles, larkspurs and lupins
Green as grass snakes and absinthe and yellow for dandelions
Orange for oranges, tips of butterfly wings, apricots, marigolds
Red is for rubies - arterial blood
That carries the oxygen round to the cells
All round the body from the toes to the head
Unless you drink bleach - and then you’ll be dead
Going North in Lockdown
I had a pen that looked like a killer whale - an Orca
I thought I might use it to write letters of my fictional visit to Iceland
It seems the place to go if you are a poet
And Simon Armitage went on a day trip with his Mum
But they thought twenty quid was a bit steep for a Viking Lunch
Which they didn’t fancy the idea of anyway so they took sandwiches
Which is why we love him. No-one's going anywhere these days
Except in their heads - so why not go to Iceland ?
On a dragon ship - its crew in bear skins , singing Norse
Sagas as we go sailing through the skies
It’s less than an hour’s journey as the dragon flies
Postcard from Here
Where are you now - I am here
Where can you go ? I can go anywhere
How do you travel ?
On the wings of a gull
On the tail of a cat
Or the fluff of a seed on the breeze
Or the roll of a galleon on the high seas
How do you speak ?
In the tongue of a toad
In the rattle of rain on the road
Where are you live ? In the shell of a snail
In a world within walls
In a room without doors
And I’m sending this postcard from Here
Anita Greg 19/05/2020
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