Plog of Chris Gower. Poet, Librarian and master of not much else.
A low landing for my eagle spirit
As it swoops along the silk like water
Microns close but with no ripple
Only the sound of the heart
Makes waves across the surface
Fish chippering and fickle, fins
Splish as they school and form
A living one celled life, their bodies
Entwined with each other in
Harmonius modulation of kind
Your streets are small
But bookshops abound
The houses are made
Of books that are found
On the page strewn ground
Lying in fields that surround
And dangling in the trees
Put there by angry fleas
As a protest against Booth
Who flooded Hay with books
A vision, detremental to fleas
As they don’t like books or antiques.
