Poem By Brian Dodds

place de la mairie crisp
december morning walking
past the flower stalls deep

shade in rue des cordeliers
plastic birds spinning
above the toyshop door

there is so much time
there is too much time
there is not enough time

there are so many
there are too many
there are not enough

promises to keep

and two months on
encircling each other
like voice and melody

there is truth
there is half-truth
there is no truth just

othello and desdemona
dumb iago somewhere
in the mountains

and a chocolate rose
begins to wither
in a cold white jar

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Other poems of DODDS

Brownfield Morning

Cold stinging rain beats on pot-holed tarmac.
Down at the corner, opposite the pub,
they're throwing up another samey clutch
of pokey des-res boxes, muddy birth-pangs

Cold Night In Worcester Park

a plane noses down toward heathrow
heads in from the chiswick line-up
winking across the line of orions belt

In The Country Of The Blind

it's dark in here
but not because it's night

it's dark in here

Romeo In The Rain

suddenly a rainbow had inked itself
across the camargue sky, seemingly
sucking colours from the flat greyness

Knock Knock

This is the last door,
the one that no-one wants to open.

This is the last door,

Send Not To Know....

A small spider hangs motionless,
roughly six inches from the ceiling,
under a narrow crack in the anaglypta.
Perhaps it is watching me while

Robert Frost

The Road Not Taken