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January 15, 2007

You look straight down
through clear water
to the river’s bed
or all around
where many-angled light
has turned the glaucous Thames
to abstract, shifting art.


In the pub a grey philosopher
studies the air. His hand
smokes behind a table-leg.
He compares notes with the Sun,
his head bobbing and bobbing:
a duck proof-reading water.


Snooty was the word for the swan
who looked down his bill
at coots masked for a ball.
He snorted like a soft fart,
up-ended his rump,
then rose on flaming wings.

by Ian House

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  1. January 15, 2007 at 9:03 am

    I’m having fun with this. I particularly like the walk among art, thought, and writing, and the interplay of water, air, fire, and earth(y).

    What a joy. Thanks.

  2. January 15, 2007 at 5:46 pm

    “the glaucous Thames” – wonderful! Thanks for these fine poems and the images they paint.

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