Month: September 2018

The wall, the wall,
that endless wall of stone,
it casts shadows on our hearts
but is broken by the spaces
that let our eyes glimpse
the promise
of the other side.

In the fading light
of evening
a small yacht bobs
on its mooring in the harbour;
the cabin light is yellow,
watching from the shore
we wonder at the dreams
that will be dreamed aboard tonight.

His footsteps echo
on the wooden floor
of the town hall;
the elder statesman poet
delivers the poem,
signed in his own hand,
to the young man
on his 21st birthday.

The old man.
my mother’s brother,
saw out 102 years;
tonight his chair sits vacant
in the corner,
a glass of kahlua and milk
untouched on the side table.

I’m driving down to see you –
you, waiting for the end of
all things as you know them;
I’m coming down with no words to speak
and no lies to tell,
just a promise of blood to keep.

I;m driving down to see you;
you, waiting for the end
of all things as you know them;
I’m coming with no words to speak,
no lies to tell,
just a promise of blood to keep.

Crouched
in the shelter
as the bus passed by,
he missed his ride;
should have stepped out,
been more visible,
waved it down
but he missed his ride.

time to turn the soil
and plant the seeds
and let the earth
give birth –
a harvest to sustain
and nourish.

Cancer, a drunk-driver,
high-speed road crash,
waiting ‘the full force of the law,’
with cash and ensuing publicity,
to be brought down
on the suspected culprits.

On this bank of clay
with pick and shovel
we sweat to plant
small seeds and trees;
we dream of a forest
and the shelter that will be.