Blackbird in Fulham
by P J Cavanagh
A John the Baptist bird which comes before
The light, chooses an aerial
Toothed like a garden rake, puts a prong at each shoulder,
Opens its beak and becomes a thurifer
Blessing dark above dank holes between the houses,
Sleek patios or rag-and-weed-choked messes.
Too aboriginal to notice these,
Its concentration is on resonance
Which excavates in sleepers memories
Long overgrown or expensively paved-over,
Of innocence unmawkish, love robust.
Its sole belief, that light will come at last.
The point is proved and, casual, it flies elsewhere
To sing more distantly, as though its tune
Is left behind imprinted on the air,
Still legible, though this the second carbon.
And puzzled wakers lie and listen hard
To something moving in their minds' backyard.
Queen of all she surveys - Holly testing out the smart new dining chairs tucked under the lovely new dining table, and giving her seal of approval.
Yesterday I joined some friends at a charity carols by candlelight event in Edinburgh - and in the lucky-dip managed to win no less than a television! Just need to arrange to collect it from the charity's offices in town as I'd left before they contacted me with the news, but, wow!