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Guest poet

A baby at six months

Just before locomotion
you are the fattest cherub
on the tallest ceiling
in the best basilica.

Wings would fold themselves into your folds
which in themselves are honey
you are flesh run to laughter
and promise in a small compass

which will never be repeated.
Already you are raising yourself, straining
to use one leg as a prop.
The folds will fall from it

as you rear up and crawl
you will walk and they will fall like silk.
All this manna gathered together
cherubs with wings and arrows

in the gestures of your hands
your beaming expression
your taking everything into your mouth
honey to honey, to make honey.


Elizabeth Smither


    This week…

    Kia ora, this week the poem is, A baby at six months, by Elizabeth Smither and on the blog, Q: When is a Prime Minister not a Prime Minister? ..

    Chapter 19 of The Snowball Waltz (Take 2) is up but if you’re an impatient reader buy it as an ebook.  Too Many Cooks and  Once Bitten are also available as ebooks and the recently launched  print copy of Your Life Your Story — details on the Books page — can be bought directly from me — happy reading… 

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