John Rickell

(I November 1931 / York)

Before the clouds disperse


De profundis, the departed
favourite for so many
drawn in awe and fear.
Why no more for joy
bestowed by nature
found in primrose verges
cast so carelessly we hardly notice
there to chose and free?
Life is not for ever
we knew as we were born,
see moths trapped in the window,
nipples dry, milk a passing fancy.
Throw off those gowns,
Black is not for us
bring on drums, intoxicants,
spin, sing, jazz, girate.
There is little time
of what there is
share the rainbow
before the clouds disperse.

Submitted: Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Edited: Wednesday, January 22, 2014

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