Ken's Poetry

I Eye

The TV is 64 centimetres diagonally
the window 8 feet perhaps.
They both fill my inch of eye.

Out there the town is a mile across,
at sea you can see eleven
across the ocean’s dome,
and from the plane
fields like postage stamps,
the distant shimmering Thames,
once the orange dessert sands,
the folded green mountains of China,
the endless sun-scalded clouds.

Up there on the edge of space
you can see the whole globe spinning,
the shape of continent and sea;
a diamond in the velvet cloak of space.

Flipping channels I squint at the square,
peer out at the world
from the inside.