A series of poems, each one a mutation (by any means) on the previous one.

A cobbler who made shoes for ants,

Wept at the enormity of his task,

And drained away in pale exhaustion,

Yet rose again in fluid form,

A resurrected cordwainer,

Thought fit for arthropic labour,

Long he hung on their sounds,

Gave heed to their chaotic babblings

And tried in vain to craft

Brogues fit for that endless marching,

Of sufficient wear and pluck,

And for some styles gavelled cleats,

Yet this now protean formed bootmaker,

Who once deemed his aqueous morphism,

A gift of salvation,

Came to reckon his new un-boundaried life,

As curse and not blessing, saying thus:

“Neither life nor liquid can shoe so many feet”

(Graham Freestone 13 April 2022)

4      Innate savants’ great valley

The calm smile of an umbrella stand is transient

and elephants returning home to dark energy

bury their words in a rich port of failure

Scent discovered effortlessly disappears quickly

ignored at first this content reduces concern

for capital delays in hard pronunciation

Apprentice beetles bowing to want dive into

the prison master’s sick pink features and

as a group rub their free hands in oil

Death has become unclear in limited speculations

all fixed by several old torture treatments that

freeze crematorium victims’ ashes forever

(Geoffrey Mark Matthews 16 April 2022)