Rime Frieze

No spray of blooms but icepick spikes

from plashy spray of lorry tyres,

such mudguard slush, wave paving wash

that’s laid out, splayed on, and through bush;

but bitter bite of frost filled air

holds dirt dense drips like puddled pig,

wrought iron, brittle, stalactice,

sprite dangle gems, shards winter ware.

It is best interplay by kerb,

that haulage thunder we beware,

light glitter bright, buds silver search,

by brown clouds vaped, exhausted fumes;

a rainbow spun in spangled rime,

from splattered gutter to the wind,

sprung spider’s web of glisten strings,

their chimes clang crack break as they play.

A trunk road with a treasure chest,

bridged rubber treading into slop,

that careless slapping, bubbled ooze

to shroud a shrub in lacewing shine;

grey tarmac stir seeds fruiting hedge,

from fund, fumes diesel, gracious vine,

for tree assaulted, stained with crud,

becomes the mode, hope, hang in there.

For we grow tired of wayward spume,

from rain that drains too full for spare,

as dashing, splashing, traffic comes,

that heavy plant, shift street to side;

it scatters swirling swaying plumes

like lumber whales, spume passing though.

But given moment, still to share,

that spill transformed, bears witness, stare.