Miles Whinfrey (c) September 2014
Concrete 1
Dig a pit to start the frame
Inside a grillage
Pour through special mix (whatever)
Re-entrant- it’s soon stuck fast
Columns sandwich the parts
Bound extra tight and going straight up
Guilloched rods
To give a good column
It can’t be a lash up job
Above is a kind of floor on stilts with boards
Don’t walk on it it’s not ready
Punctuated by rods again guilloched
With finely welded wire, criss-cross
Neither mash of sausage and mash
Nor pea soup
But will burn if touching
Beam’s a funny word
It means across and with power
It’s like a perfect colleague
Does the job of 2 or 3
An overworked floor
A missing column
Overbearing pile of storeys above
Wall with pilasters
Initially a canephor in a cella
Now it’s not a figure
Still prized for decorative face
Tracery of rods in new work
Bones with flesh when done
Stripped thoroughly and raw
keynote details in small work
once carved, now artstone
like a spirit of ecstasy on a Rolls Royce
Much bigger
Jettying out from a height
For a man or woman to make their mark
On the world