michael oliver Poems

The Wedge

The bronze bowl
-once a concubine's
...

Through the broken hedges
A style is realised
And a word alone
And a gap noticed
...

The unmoving of the air sings the midwinter sigh
Trees being unheard veils of the summer memory
Their thin rhythm hold the alighted evening notes
A suggested whisper in the dusk sky emptiness
...

1 to be a maitre d'

leaning on the bar
with a white shirt
...

There at the end the virgin counsels us
If we ask if she chooses

This is a black this is a white
...

Sunlight on the leaves
A seductive tale yet
Movement murmurs some doubt
With the cooling shadows
...

Musing on the remains
Some sweet yellow crumbs
A drunk cappuccino clinging
A stain of consumption
...