Past Perfidious by Jude Cowan Montague

the curly mind linguistically innovative poetry - weird & risky

An eye, a pool

two pillars, three trees.

The palace of cool

intelligence leads

two women to a panorama

of red-jacketed warriors

and the bloody encounter of sword

and skin. Criss cross, burgundy



on podiums, busts immobilising

moustaches and epaulettes.

Arms up on glass case,

a curious body looks

down on tiny boats floating

on the blue channel

above which the military mini

aircraft hang from threads.

Cattle keep their inquisitive heads up

in cases on mahogany legs

fashion once thought to display such elegant curves,

French curves,

the setting adding a mysterious varnish

to the bovine horns.

Silent cattle. They don’t chew,

no lowing.

Fans don’t whirr

on the moulded door frames.

No breeze for tourists,

hot, hot, no breeze for attendants

merely oodles and steaks

of faded cow-glory.

Geese fly away

wild across glassy

picturesque fields, reflecting windows

behind the keeper,

who has large hands.


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