A streetlamp blinks on.
Behind it an unthinkably huge bird of prey,
with mile long salmon pink wings
hovers as if waiting to swoop.
A cloud bird, formed of water, scattered light,
and my imagination.
And now a loud but tiny human bird,
a jet from Gatwick headed who knows where,
moves beneath the cloud bird and is gone,
a speck of dust against the sky.
The sun sets further, and pink wings turn to grey.
The streetlamp now seems brighter,
human defiance shining against eternity.
There is something vaguely Potteresque about this. The street lamp conjures up the deluminator, the cloud bird a sort of arial grim. A magical element suffuses this poem and I love it.
ReplyDeleteI particularly like the assonance of jet and headed but Gatwick brings this poem too far down to earth for me - anchors it in a specific place and I don't want it to be tied down. Perhaps there is some other way of introducing the human and machine element without grounding it in a real location. Perhaps a comment on the mechanical nature of the jet as opposed to the magical, imaginary nature of the cloud bird?
Pink wings turn to grey could be the effect of the disappearance of the sun but could also contrast the wings of the cloud bird and the wings of the jet.
Lovely poem.
I sort of see your point about Gatwick, but I wanted to make the plane ordinary, mundane, specific, a contrast to the (literally and figuratively) numinous cloud bird, and Gatwick seems to me to have that dismissive effect. Thanks for commenting.
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