Sometimes they come from I know not where.
*****
the wind tree
on various out of the way
locales round the world
they hide — like the one
high on a hill near my home
i call it the wind tree
but it might
have other names
long forgotten
i like to climb
right up on it &
let myself hang
i go to hear it sing
some say this is where
the wind begins
i believe here, it ends
after racing the sun
you are often
at the wind tree
or in it, or around
you use my visits
to play melodies
upon the bridge
that is my bones
some days i go
to the wind tree
& some days,
the wind tree,
comes to me
BONUS POEM: April 21, 2018
For a few days, living a London idyll.
*****
soundproofing
the creaks
I don’t know
still startle
strange birdcries
strangle silence
pigeonwing applause
helicopters dance
every dawn
subterranean
tummy rumbles
halfheard whispers
conversation detritus
strangers footfalls
creaking up my stairs
opening doors
slamming doors
in rooms
with no doors
a woman washing dishes
in my cupboards
kids voices call
through windows
but not mine
all this life
lived underneath
next door’s buttons
gareth roi poet boi 