Spectacular art 

H

is spectacles left at the Tate

lay by a wall, artfully flung,

which started up a new debate.

What truth did they communicate?

We listened to their praises sung

which helped us to appreciate

this art of very recent date

by which significance is wrung

from simple things like bricks, a plate

that open hell’s or heaven’s gate

until all brazen bells are rung

in tones of transcendental weight.

We heard some prattle and some prate

as back and forth opinion swung

but all agreed the art was great

until a man came in to state

his spectacles had come unstrung:

his spectacles left at the Tate

which started up a new debate.

Wishing for skylarks

A sudden smile and lightening of the heart

were mine before I glimpsed her waiting there,

at that beloved corner. There I go

to linger yet though she can never come.

She sleeps with skylarks and one nightingale

who sings to her to gain the loud applause

of little birds whom she once fondly fed

who perch, side-by-side, in bosky shadows

until the pale dawn comes and skylarks sing.

Once she slept guarded by a little dog

who thought he was a lion. So did I

but neither of us guarded well enough.