Poetry: July 2008 Archives

The Tenant - a poem

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This poem, written over ten years ago, contains some imagery (the plant growing in an old shoe) that has recently been echoed in the new Pixar film, Wall-E (see Hamgray's review below). I'm not saying that the idea was pinched from me - just that the Zeitgeist keeps manifesting itself!

wall-e-boot-plant.jpg
The Tenant

Settling in was like saving the planet,
all that anxiety
over space, colour and temperature,
knowing when to destroy and when to nurture.
Our first flat a miniature Terra.

Once I came back to discover
that a bird had flown in through the window.
A foreign body,
unwanted as the outrageous cuckoo
in another's nest,
it perched on the angle-poise lamp.

Quick eyes appraised the living-space
as I myself had done
on a first visit,
nervous but intrepid like the bird
whose accidental presence in our flat
might yet make news:

'How a flying visitor became my lodger,
Woman tells of life with feathered friend'.
For although a parrot would be better,
I appreciate the timely symbolism
of this rare cohabitation,
a truce between man and nature.

But enough of millennium doom.
We could use the humour that recycles
shoes as flower-pots
on a neighbour's windowsill,
where daffodills sprout from worn soles
with spring in their step.

Vanishing Points: a Poem

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This poem was inspired by a visit Cambridge's Scott Polar Research Institute, which is a museum/library open to the general public as well as scholars. Recently a family day on the theme of polar bears was held.


Though the Cold War is over, paranoia
lives on, past the point of self-parody.
That polar bear, stuffed to within an inch
of its life, is a spy - its glacial stare
follows us everywhere. On the walls, photos
in frames show others of its kind - trophies
left to atrophy in cluttered stately homes,
yellowing like chain-smoking émigrés.

Though transport poses challenges,
we'll think laterally. This young explorer
(my son) favours hands and knees, and - who knows? -
maybe he'll be the first to swim to the poles!

Though we're the only visitors,
a colony of souls convenes to hush
these halls, to hover round the strong room
where brave mens' letters gather dust.
Like bubbles that burst at a touch, the future
melts as we learn new ways to move on.

Though we are free, this morning, to idle,
this is the tip of time's iceberg.

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About this Archive

This page is a archive of entries in the Poetry category from July 2008.

Poetry: August 2007 is the previous archive.

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