By Roddie McKenzie
Winter Window, Queens Hotel
From a lounge that once chattered with writers
I stare into the gloaming and hope for spring.
The words edge slowly onto the page like geese,
home over the fleeced fields.
The black dendrites of a tree insinuate
into the aching blue of a winter sky,
twisted, like a giant nerve cell.
Thoughts alight in the twilight,
roost like rooks on its branches.
Its trunk wired into in the Perth Rd.
it dwarfs the roof
of the University Tower, a table top hosting
the canting grey cake stands of satellite dishes
as they too listen
from the heavens.
Morgan Tower across the street,
in the setting sun
an Oriental edifice,
despite its peh-domed roof.
It’s sandstone boulders sparkle
the regularity of the gentle convex façade and Venetian windows.
And topped–off by a Muslim-moon weathervane.
The traffic lights click time, dances in colour
solo-ing against the backing rhythmic hum of neon signs above Iconic ,
glowing radioactive in the falling darkness.
A perfect navy sky arches overhead in the sub zeros.
My pint has gone in a wake of froth,
With the page full,
©Roddie McKenzie 31/3/13