Will Vigar

a writer of sorts

Acoustic Mirrors (Dover)

sound-mirror5[2]

A wheatear cocks it’s head

neck stuttering as it tries

to focus on the insect buzz

not comprehending that this

 

is no meal – no mayfly

nor mosquito –  but the buzz compels

and from the top of this concrete

parabola – where distance contracts

 

and sound takes on new volume –

it waits in vain as it’s wood and canvass

cousin, cover blown – hemp and oil riven

by spiteful iron stings – dives beneath

 

the waiting waves to a uniform chorus

of “top hole” and “glory be.”

The wheatear cocks it’s head, unconcerned.

Behind him, marshland beckons.

 

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This entry was posted on November 28, 2018 by in Concrete Poetry, Poem, poem of the day, Poetry, Will Vigar and tagged , , , , , , , , , .
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