Roger:
Although I know this is a snap
of THERE, it really feels as though
it's a snap of HERE. Thank you
for it!
Good Wishes,
Gerald S.
1. Stepping Stone
An ox-eyes gentle opening at the suns warmth
doors open to shadow hallways
avacado, rainforest, beige, pink
a kitchens stainless gleam
the loose fist of a tied rubbish bag
ranked DVDs, books bearing aspirations
splines lined or shiny
chairs showered with a golden fall of rice
sprinkling of beer, the constant shift
of sand-dunes with no marin grass
scattering of clothes idly waiting to be re-animated
in another place, half-built computers
waiting for their better halves
the dentists waiting room is hot and noisy
whispered urgencies and discontent
a snail shell going elsewhere
the walker balances on the water-shaken stone
his passage paused, trembling
push and the stone skitters backwards
he looks to a sunny upland
where skylarks cloud, swoop and sing
sun shafts through the overcast
shallow soil, a brick of Wittgenstein
to leave behind
tendrils to ponder sift entwine en-rich
scorch-marks on withered ends
he shan't miss that
cries at midnight to the temporary moon
the bleak heart of orion
the ox-eyes fist re-asserts
2. Pill-box
(For Margaret)
He lectures behind us about churches
bitumen - or is it betjemen?
We discuss a pill-box:
small, squat, octagonal with small slits
built, I offer, more in hope than survival.
Bobbies in blue besides gestapo in green
Churchill offers escape, a brother goes
another stays, a betrayal in the family
a hanging at Bar Point.
Could we withstand it?
We agree we can't, tea and crumpet beside the fire
rather not our toes toasted by the filth,
the scenes at Abu Grahib, Beirut appeared
as mythic beasts from between hard cover.
I said, yes, I could cope with that
and the inner lid of my iron maiden opened:
the gleaming shoals of mackerel
sails flap and crack white in the breeze
the bar buoys clang, a long low wind
on the green ground swell, rollers
pitching to the wide near-empty beach
a single fisherman casts his beach-rod
a family four-square in the dunes
their gingham cloth weighs the shifting sand.
--
http://www.badstep.net/
http://www.cb1poetry.org.uk/
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