Ken's Poetry

Migration

What can rival such sunset insanity
whip savagely as that manic form,
nightmaring proportion, shape and shapeless
furiously stretched and coiled

with myriad silent wings, uncolliding
in hurricane towers,
swooping and scything on frozen slopes of air
above the dumb town’s spires?

The reckless fray in liquid devilry
bursts upon the sharp grey roofs
showers flapping dust on chimney, eave and ridge
and frays the town with feathery grime

and living and verminous, seething and ugly
I feel a fibre of my startled mind
unwind and spin in the gyrating mass.
I feel them crawl and grovel on my eyes!

At last, at last the crooked hand descends,
sweeps up the tattered cloak,
and grim and magnificent sways and swims
its headlong course into oblivion.

Gulls and thoughts wheel vacantly
across the cold grey sky, my eyes
strain to see some part of me
shake broken chains insanely to the west.