Opaquely piqued, the stare of small black pupil.
Perplexed, through spec’s perspex, he checks for flaw
In universe inversed to his fine scruple…
“‘Cos mos’ of us, we take what’s seen for granted;
As us, in blinkered fashion, do stars claim
Locked eyes for fools in plots where they are planted,
Like limpets, in vast seas, clung to rocked brain?”
“Uncanny grasped, the star’s tin-cling does foil me!
So rapt I‘m lad, afresh I’d see the skies.”
“In many gasps, I clam up, for words fail the
Occasion of sight muscling for my eyes.”
Now struck, the black-eyed sky white pupil teaches…
So lunar-sea gifts shift in grain of beaches!
Why won't blogger let me use apostrophes in titles?
ReplyDeleteAnyway, this poem was inspired whilst chatting with a Ugandan lad about the differences between the night skies of the northern and southern hemispheres. It suddenly struck me that just as things might seem inversed in my eyes, the moon was like the white pupil in a black eye staring back at me! I'll share a soppier poem next to do with tides after all this sea of speculation.