Poet Adrian Fox and I have been playing with responding to some of the images I have taken while in Antibes. This is the first of, what may be, a short series of images and corresponding poetry.
No decision-making MLA’s or ministers have been harmed by these poems in spite of the appalling cuts in funding. No public funds of any description have been expended in the writing of them 😦
The man in the window
is calling to me
In a glazed hieroglyphic look
an old language
Wrapped in wrought iron curls.
The portraits mean
Nothing to me.
Opening in but
On the inside, he’s still standing –
dancing. He is potent and wild.
He is backlit, by fire and the morning sun
a hot shoe do-daddy, without rest.
His incantation is to the morning.