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Peter Lewis Holmes | + Follow Poet |
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Listen To the Calm

There is a calm, a quiet calm, it follows
a storm, a war, a quarrel;

for example see, when the chimney-smoke
flattens, and lies above the red bricks and 
hunting cats but scatters at the gull's urgent 
zoom:

then there is a gentle calm, or perhaps it's grey?
yes then, a greying-gentle calm,which having arrived,
is butted by traffic sounds, and childrens' ice-cream
shouts of glee

and above all that, the cries and laughs of debutantes,
in taffeta and chiffon skirts, looking for mister "right",
or a duke or count

then of course, quizzically, there's the gray-white calm
upon your chair,(spilt sherbet), which works its way into 
your trouser seat; but let's not dwell on that

and not least there is that peaceful calm, that dances, 
resolute, upon the bouncing bed of love; so settled now,
its promises rarely kept

thus then, the dipping, scattered chimney-plume, trips its 
last gay gavott, from stage to stage, alighting on the poet's 
page; 

then with addiction, and literary affliction, mounted broad on
sword and pen; will skip the mordant wind, of gray and calm, 
quietening the alarm; for the grey, and the peaceful, lie hand
in hand; to rest.

Copyright © Peter Lewis Holmes | Year Posted 2015

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