That yellowing mould of surrender
Like soft vows
Subsides on the kerb as a light wind makes the leaves
Skittish
With those most recently released from the bough
Falling through shafts of sunlight and forming, casually
A duvet against the stone, against the cold of a coming night
This heat has made the trees distress and shrug off their ornaments
Those leaves
Fluttering dependents in need of drink and so they are
Expendable. It is the rule of law.
Long grass warped into dry and brittle threads
Susceptible to fire. All these indicators of change
Gather here in plain sight to form a queue of warning signs
Do Not Proceed. One Way Only. Danger of Death
Another turning point goes blind to history
All the common sights forgot and nothing left
But burning twigs
Meet the Poet!
Mike Doherty says: “I have always tried to express myself. School reports exhort you to “try harder”. Poetry is the only medium I have found to reach into the corners of my soul and shed some light. It’s never easy and often not terribly good. But, I love it.”
