Sipping of Modern

When I say poetry
You think of the slender neck of the giraffe
Reaching into exotic sky
Tasting fruit taboo

Stepping back into the Modern

When I say dawn
Crimson or hazy apricot
You see the sun you see
Your heartfelt hue.

Stepping back into the Modern

Post dawn repose
The cigarette an indulgent vice.
Verse: phrases plucked from a hat
Floating eclectic down the Thames

Stepping back into the Modern

Hush ladies, Michelangelo no more
When I say Prufrock, J Alfred, Google, you and him
Poetry in the shadow behind the eye
Of the giraffe, never above

Stepping back into the Modern

And Clarissa Dalloway is chattering in my head
My T Shirt is inside out
She notices, she sees, she observes
The tag flagging from the back of one bent neck.

Stepping aside, letting her past
Tipping the notion of a hat.
And everywhere a poet.
Poetry just a doff away.

Stepping back, stepping back .
A stanza upon an anvil inside my head
Sipping black tea, let’s go then. Clarissa look
Blue Eyed Susans peeping through the crack.

under the shade of a giraffe turning
stepping back

Leigh Jordan. I am a rusted on Marxist Romantic Jungist Surrealist . Have been writing poetry since early teens. Just retired so have returned to the core. With some poetry I like to unsettle. With some seduce. I live in a very small rural town in Tasmania, Aus., one pub, one shop and carrots ever on the side of the road.