October Mood.
Clouds are breaking up now and leisurely sailing
north, on the sky a proud rainbow that makes
the mistake of mirroring itself on a shiny cloud and
losses its soul to the image, hazes into a blur of pale
colour and dissipates. You can see the new rainbow
is a fake it’s the wrong way around; and when I tell
it so it hastily hides behind the mountain range trying
to look pretty for people on the other side.
A dead turtle on the road thrown out of a fast car by
someone fed up of having a pet that only ate lettuce
and lived wordlessly under the sink.
As big clouds drift northward, I wonder if fish see
icebergs as we see clouds. “Look, at that amazing,”
cloud!” A poetic cod says. “It’s only chunk of ice,”
the practical cod says, it’s a big fish, has a degree in
marine biology. The poet cod doesn’t answer, rapt it
doesn’t see the net and gets hopelessly stuck in verbs,
commas, full stops and archaic words only found in
the Oxford thesaurus. The big fish swims on, but looks
up and sees cobalt light, as coming from the inside of
an iceberg, it finds that “quite interesting” but refuses to
use words like lovely… and worst of all beautiful.