stiletto crow - poetry show

Sung, Dug, Danced, Planted

(for Mum and Dad)

Sung by things dug up,
the clay pipe with harp,
as natural as oil.
No destroyed civilization, no shocked discovery
of bust statue of liberty on the sand.
Rust on an old broach,
sweat on summer’s ancient evenings,
the spattering of brown optimism

Danced by planted bounty.
Black plant pots of leeks,
ant highways and aimlessly industrious beetles
ignoring like calmest parents
the lanky greens plopped in dibbed holes
after Mr King, à la veteran
of killing and growing fields.

Eight-tined garden fork leant by gate,
warmed and polished handle,
living stem
muddy, magnificent,
moulded to the rhythm of vegetation
and allotted growth.