many a beautiful theory was killed by an ugly fact

Windows in the West



Turn the kaleidoscope and the seventy-eyed creature
Stretches, yawns, shakes the roof snow
Off its back in clumsy dollops, gets a glow
Going, cries of ‘It’s freezing!’ (not really, just a feature
Of tenement winter), puts some coffee on, come on -
How can a single one be a multiple seventy -
I don’t know, but I know I like the mystery -
Breathe out, breathe in, never in unison -
‘When did you get in last night?’ - ‘Where the hell
Did you put my razor?’ - ‘Dog has started
To chew things up again’ - ‘Well well,
You were going to give it a bone, that’s your department’ -
‘That was never what art meant,
Pictures falling off the wall, everyone has a -’
‘Don’t throw it away. I might need it’ -
‘You’ll never write a line if you don’t heed it
When I tell you there’s enough life,
Enough strife
In this old sandstone block
To turn Anna Karenina and The Great Gatsby
Into one noble undefeated cry
Which is the single tenement sigh
Any time, anywhere.
Turn up the heat,
A new day’s always sweet.’
‘Coffee up.’
‘My god another cracked cup.’

Edwin Morgan

Strawberries
There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open french window
facing each other
your knees held in mine
the blue plates in our laps
the strawberries glistening
in the hot sunlight
we dipped them in sugar
looking at each other
not hurrying the feast
for one to come
the empty plates
laid on the stone together
with the two forks crossed
and I bent towards you
sweet in that air
in my arms
abandoned like a child
from your eager mouth
the taste of strawberries
in my memory
lean back again
let me love you

let the sun beat
on our forgetfulness
one hour of all
the heat intense
and summer lightning
on the Kilpatrick hills

let the storm wash the plates

Edwin Morgan, again