They will assemble in the parliament of the wide awake,
gather in the forest clearing. Folding back bed sheets,
slipping on clothes from the back of the chair, they will
unlock their doors, step out into the early hours’ chill.
The speaker will call the meeting to order, invite members
to say their piece amidst yawns and stretches, with coffee
in hand. Debate will take the form of recollected dreams,
each more surreal than the last, until it’s time for the vote.
They will drift back out into the growing light, retrace steps
to find front doors. Climbing stairs, losing clothes, they will
re-occupy cold sheets and remember the act of democracy
shared in a forest clearing by a gathering of the wide awake.
The Green Man
This is the nature of things:
ewes in lamb; a rainbow
crying through the rain;
leaves plucked from the tree,
a necessary cruelty.
And I have made curry
I cannot share until
this disease morphs
we can cope with,
that isn’t there.
My old joints ache,
all the wear and tear,
but still I walk,
get rained upon.
Dead leaves are
every shade of rage
to be so trodden down,
kicked up by dogs.
we’re being followed
by the Green Man
who has too many questions.
Pat Edwards – writer, reviewer, workshop leader. Hosts Verbatim open mic. Curates Welshpool Poetry Festival. Two pamphlets: Only Blood (Yaffle 2019) and Kissing in the Dark (Indigo Dreams 2020). Twitter @PatEdwa70504378