Children at the Glassblowers

It was so hot in there heat caught
our breath and carried it away.

The Glassblowers wore bandannas
soaked with sweat above their eyes.

We watched them blow in to a long pipe
saw a small balloon rise and grow,

saw the molten orb being dipped
to harden fast as they transformed

the glass in to fantastic shapes.
Later looking through the window

at sun making steam rise and droplets
run down the pane. We squint our eyes

and change the light to colours
and make our own rainbows.

Resist, Resist

It is difficult to think straight
when rain is hammering
the window hard on June.
The flowers are taking a battering.
The hollyhocks have swayed
into battle and are in danger
of loosing their petals.

It is impossible to ignore
the clamour of left over party
balloons drifting across the floor,
like my cursor on screen
dancing to a ragged right
and leaving me orphaned there.

It doesn’t do to measure time
in words and weigh letters
on the page. It is better to reason
that there is always a wind
at the side of things.
Don’t go turning yourself to bone.

^

Biography