VIGNETTES -perfection


My eye’s finger-tips can never quite
draw from the tarmac a face distinct,
but I know it is God perfected, there
in the oily rainbow’s slow pirouette.

I cannot look upon roses until their end.
I pluck each perfect petal, and from
my palm let the breeze take them, before
wilt and obscene fall arrive one day.

I hear still the irreverent crunch of boots,
marring deep virgin snow, and how a part
of every sound was claimed by the frozen
cloud that lay upon the land in white,
transient, perfection.

Stolen safe from time’s fraying of truth,
paper sealed by sudden flash brilliance,
beyond the reach of greying years, its
smiles mirrored as we look,
until we can mirror no more.


6 thoughts on “VIGNETTES -perfection

  1. The title says it all, absolute perfection, Nige. I’m simply blown away by how stunning each of these are. Just brilliant. That last one made me smile. Who are those two blokes, anyway? hehe. The Cult was a nice touch there.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This deep poem, so full of great imagery, has me silenced.
    The way you show perfection in such novel ways that yet ring deeply true.
    I do also love your way of presenting pictures with each stanza.
    Gives time for thought between as well.


    Liked by 1 person

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