Red Kite

Mosquito dancing, hover hair,
jig to ballroom, sudden fall,
though scooped before full fly to floor,
a shudder, hold, then swoops to whirl,
until it drops, bite leaves its mark.

Too, here be dragons, gold on black,
spitting fire in air attack
as pull on strings; or lighting wick,
moon rising lanterns, airlift shrines,
in clouds of witness, past enact.

Fast run and throw, for lift off, strand,
far reach of sand for landing strip,
with off shore wind, unwind taut line,
see soar of shape from clifftop site,
until that tug, pang hunger strikes.

Euclidian, so clear defined,
a quadrilateral designed
reflecting symmetry in kind,
diagonal, its axis line.
Unless a box, core type refined.

The kite’s a mark engraved in glass,
on labels where a sofa lies,
protection against smash in crash,
or feeding fire, its noxious smoke –
for quality, trade guarantee.

It’s BSI, the agency,
a British Standards Institute,
that flies a kite for safety first;
though fly by nights with shoddy goods
sure break the law from market stalls.

But flying kites in bedtime tales,
now column inches, stories leaked –
more floated schemes, political,
to test the current public mood,
as the elect, their safety first.

With forked tail, not the tongue above,
not dragon, red, flag field of green,
but plot, airspace, prey, red kites,
the poisoned raptor breeds once more,
Welsh nation’s, note, favourite bird.

Published by Medusa’s Kitchen, 18th March 2024

https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2024/03/the-joie-de-vivre-of-kites.html