A Conspiracy of Signals

    Across the

deserted camber’s

heat haze, their

gazes meet

dark glass

making it

as if

their eyes

had been

thumbed out


with a red

hot poker

Both jaws

grimly set


DB Fishman, 2014




    Staring into a

thumbnail, it looms

like a sun rising

through smog




The burgeoning dawn

cloud expansion of a

Nuclear blast

captured and contained

behind a snow-

globe’s glass


DB Fishman, 2014

Ducks #*6

   The body of water

cupped in the landscape

facing to the sky


And at its centre

feathers folded tight

as an umbilical knot


It generates concentric waves

radiating, magnifying



DB Fishman, 2014

Three years ago I published 18 Poems About Ducks. It cast the common Wild Mallard as metaphysical, mechanical agents of disruption and sinister machinations – and the ducks have kept coming ever since!

The Estate of

    On the hillside above

My great aunt’s home

Buried in the woodland

A garden grows

Of exotic species

Once part of an estate

For landed gentry’s summering

Its ornate gate

                   still holding fast


Fallen to overgrown disrepair

As free as it may run

The landscaped patterning

                  of path and bed

Remain evident

                  directing by origin

Conjuring ghosts of

High-attired gentlefolk

Strolling in their

Afternoon sun


And the foreign forms

                repatriated there

And left to fend in

                cold, damp Scottish soil

Together, increasingly

                entangled, bring colour

The bright blooms, wild shapes,

                thorns and fronds

These scions from warmer climes



DB Fishman, 2014


    The man in the moon

Appears to be


His eyes streaming

As he looks down

                    on a world

That never



DB Fishman, 2014