Friday, 25 July 2014


A tired angel followed me to bed, wings like sheets across a target range
crowed on about addictive texts, undisputed fonts and typesets
gathered its treaty written wings in utopian eves before rising up
and into dream where the angel covered with it's wings, the dead.
The harvest that day was burnt and spread with toys, the angel said,
"Where have guns led but here, to fields of broken ears?" I picked a pillow
from a burning seat, once a plane above a field of wheat, a knife through sky
now ghost, now language disappeared, a whisp of air the wind will keep
An angel's goodnight kiss, and hard fought/hard to resist
the whole world left on earth to wish upon a star, a home
where angels sing their lullabies and close our tired eyes.
And only starlight lights the way between its whispered notes
in tune with time, running before our wants and needs, pushing
buttons where no middle ground consoles our inbetweens

©Mac Dunlop

Mac edits The Poetry Point and is also the cartoonist MacD, who recently
won a Pluto Press award. His radio monologues and cartoons and writing are available online through the satirical website Politoons at: