UK Poet, Philosopher & Artist Ivor Griffiths' Official Website

Her at No. 29

Green Sequoia, slow down — take the joy of her,
Slow down and breathe the coy her, feelings
tapping on the broken window, in half-life light.
Get down, feathers and a shilling, wrap them

in a white shade of hessian — rough touch
smoothes a flinching wince,
like a stone frog catching flies.
It’s in the blood, 1989: On the wire

floating above a garden, dreaming
a compost smell, hiding a wobbly
neighbour, staring through the sash-windows
that squeal open, like cats drowning.

Smoke haze in the kitchen, everyone smoking
and talking; laughing at shiny photographs.
Monotone edged in white, like the life
of the neighbour’s wife, shaking to a bongo
and tidying like Andy Warhol.

Ivor Griffiths 2007

Leave a Reply

You must be logged in to post a comment.