The Archer’s Postcard.


The storm debris of yesterday draws a leitmotif

of poems from the ordinary eddies on the stream.

Beneath Newcastle Christmas lights, a confederacy

of dreamers breeze the streets of King and Queen.


There is also synchronicity – this being the eve

of Saint Nicholas (‘… archers and repentant thieves’) –

I see one glove in need of another, and another on the quay;

two mirrors between stories in the Baltic Gallery.


There is a quiet to the mill; not silence

quite; not quite, but, still

enough to keep real life in abeyance.


The art is mostly hopeless and best avoided before pizza:

although a water coloured, pen and ink –

study of a kingfisher –

on the 3rd floor, by the rivered window,

is delightful.


The tea in the cafe is pay-as-you-please.

26 thoughts on “The Archer’s Postcard.

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