Friday, October 23, 2009
The moon stutters through
a shredded curtain,
hanging where a door once stood,
to shut the bad world out.
In a patch of weary light,
she lies on the neighbour's floor,
curled up, tight as a comma,
coughing and twitching all night long.
by whirling blades,
slow burning of lungs, the red
stickiness between her fingers.
A scrawny kitten licks her
savaged face, in delight
at finding unexpected warmth.
The girl's eyes flick wide open.
Yet she sees only that same sight,
half her brother's face grinning back
out of the black crater
they once called home.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
The ocean is a fickle bride,
wild waters swim before our eyes,
but surely that's a light
twinkling on the distant side.
We have sailed so far together,
long into the everlasting night.
Even the seas of stars
have long since disappeared from sight.
We have held fast together,
lost in swathes of fog, then
hurled from home by storm.
Who knows where we'll land, or when?
Now, though eyes may be failing,
to the east see the gloom start paling.
Silhouetted against a rose red sky,
we sense the lighthouse looming high..
This picture shows what remains of the Nineteenth |Century cast iron lighthouse at Whitford Point on Gower. This and part of the sound track of 'The Motorcycle Diaries' were the starting point of this my 62nd birthday poem.