Simon Zonenblick

Canada Geese

 

Blue sky is fluffed with grated cloud,

whole sprinklings of it, glueing white

skyscape on a slab of lake

as geese erupt into communal flight.

 

Dispatched, the units hurtle, loud

as ship horns on a foggy sea,

survival for survivals sake,

returning to the water, noiselessly.

 

Norland Moor, Calderdale, March 2013

 

Mintily air whitens

as clouds balloon over the broadness

of hills and mane-thick gorse,

like a wig encompassing the glassy, grassy

snows of Norland Moor

 

Blackly scribbles swim

in jagged elegance

like cackles grating

silences of sky:

crows of Norland Moor.

 

Above the Canal at Hebden Bridge

 

The canal, a pewter moonbeam ribboning the town, is silent:

 

a sleeping sheep, it radiates

a silvered calm, beaded by bobbing

boats of blue and bushy green.

 

The barges may as well be lily-pads,

the unobtrusive rectangle of water

one of many stitched into a twined bone-structure

 

rimming parks and pathways,

soft like settling snow – canals endure

seemingly unendingly and simple,

 

a stark reciprocity of gains,

un-squeezed harvest of persistent peace,

a long rain-coloured corridor

 

no longer used for coal or sacks of grain,

but resurrected from the slimiest demise

by holiday-and-home-makers, their boats

 

like tubes of childhood sweets

bobblingly slotted along waters

self-evidently tinselling a round, echoic course.

 

Shy relations of aggressive seas,

genteel cousins of the rivers,

unselfconscious and subdued, reassuringly straightforward:

 

in a world of continual uncertainties, canals are rare constants.

 

Heron, Rochdale Canal 

 

At a distance on this Sunday afternoon,

you’re eyebrow-fine in river mist,

cut sharp and almost one-

dimensional;

 

as though your wafer-thinness

were a cloak,

a winter pelt,

or as when our insides

are x-rayed onto screens

or analysed through samples,

charts and graphs,

we see ourselves reduced to DNA,

our blood and bones

blackboarded in a squiggled jumble,

technologically transfigured, gridded,

a dot-to-dot re-focusing,

like some complicated, simple mathematical joke.

 

Perhaps this wraithlike sillhouette,

this flickered implication’s

how we look, framed

through avian eyes,

or when offering a thread,

our shadowed selves concealed,

in office, waiting room, field, or home,

when money, faith, or love’s set down

and bartered over. 

Ours is a world of angles, shades,

of outlines,

and beyond them, other outlines tapering

to far horizons.

 

©2015 Simon Zonenblick

 

Simon Zonenblick is a poet living in the Ryburn Valley, Yorkshire. Simon works mainly in libraries and dabbles in gardening.  Two collections of his poetry have been published: Little Creatures -poems of Insects, Small Mammals and Micro-organisms (Caterpillar Poetry) & Random Journeys (Unpretentious Arts).