Tag: Angels

Universal Credit

Saturday, a priest amongst days.

These poor hands receive the descent of man,

My rightful share in an illegal age.

 

I am a writer, not a fighter,

Searching old stories hidden under rock,

Of how angels never made it underground,

 

Then embracing an eleven-o-clock break

To consider whiff-waff and dildrams.

Don’t ask me what I mean.

 

Instead, consider grandmother’s glass eye

And her three hours of secret history.

The nanny state made me. I intend to enjoy it.

 

 

 

Spitfire

A raven’s pinion from death’s immaculate aim.

Out of the cloud she comes, angelic and assertive.

Stand and watch. Listen for the sound of courage.

Watch again, how she falls, noble and concerted.


Sky and water turn her bones, like sun, swaying

Through old reels of black and white movies.

Her yell from a distance was unmistakable.

She was the colour of air, the colour of sea.