Poems by Colin James

 

ATTRIBUTIONS

There is an old saying
in this small town,
"When the white swan
attempts a somersault
you will want to be there to see it."
The last time it happened most didn't.
Folks were preoccupied
in various big cities
flaunting their hibiscuses.
Nothing good comes of that.
Try getting up at dawn instead,
waiting half submerged amongst
the nine tails and razor sharp reeds,
until you catch sight of the beautiful
swan's sinuous neck in the morning fog
gliding provocatively across the water,
and then that amazing splash.

 

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THAT MOMENT YOU WERE MISTAKEN FOR SOMEONE ELSE

You were minding your own business
pandering to another dimension,
subsisting on mice and crickets.
I saw the large car approach
like a familiar dream.
The window rolled down.
Inside, quizzical looks then laughter.
You gave them an unburdened smile,
your usual comment on the peripheral.

 

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THE AGGRAVATION OF THE ORDINARY

Lost like a stranger
in a perfect world.
Look at you again,
cartwheels and back-flips.
Enticing us in a pink
tight fitting t-shirt
of casual redemption.

 

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THE WITCHES ARE NOW ACCEPTING CREDIT CARDS

Consciousness dreamer of anything almost,
your house has washed away.
Remnants on Dejesus's corner.
A roof and singular things.
Lawnmower with clogged lungs.
A cat of course, no dog.
An original Kincaid.
The barge's wake will set it all free
brake-up that sacred monotony.