From Stephen Schaffhauser.

From Stephen Schaffhauser.

Contrails.

What would Howard

if, when towered

Cumuli

or Cirri flowered,

what would he have thought or written,

if, above the fields of Britain,

up on high,

and playful as an Ahrimanic kitten,

he had seen stretch right across the blue

contrails from aeroplanes? But never flew

aught but dragonfly

then,and birds and bats, and other insects too.

Or if Shelley

rising early

and raising eye

to his clouds of loved Italy,

had seen planes through a widened rent

in the broken woof of that wind built tent

(off to Dubai?)

leave contrails there where stratus never went?

Now that clouds are surrogated

the vault itself is violated.

Techno sky!

How can antidotes then be created?

Maybe only if we’re able

When round about swarm toil and trouble

like incubi

to create a blue bell bubble.

By this I mean an inner space.

Out there cruel prowls the Wolf of fearsome face

and dark, insistent cry.

Within, a Sun illumined, Sun warmed Samothrace.

© Stephen Schaffhauser.

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