Quadrille I: Dusk

First in a series of quadrilles written at the weekend.




On a tree in the dusk,

a blackbird sits,

as daylight fades

to a turquoise blue,

and he sings as he watches

another day die,

for the night is long,

the moon too clear,

and the cats that prowl

have cold eyes of fear.






For the dverse open night. A poem that is a clin-d’œil to WB Yeats, as if you wouldn’t have noticed.


The silent-most time of day, is this,

the hush before unholy street lights

burst into their orange flame

and draw the crowds outdoors like noisy moths.

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,

I’d wrap this moment in the hues of half-light

and sing it gentle songs of twilight

and keep it safe through darkest midnight,

unwrap it in the melting dawnlight,

when the soft hush falls again

into the dew-damp world.

Wolf light

Poem adapted (hmmm) from French to English.
Painting by Eugene Jansson.

Entre chien et loup
tout se ressemble
tout chat est gris
soleil déclinant
la lune obscure
ton visage entre les arbres

Between dog and wolf
the same shadows fall
all cats are grey
day is dust sifting
light fading
sun declining
moon obscured
your face between the trees