We do not hand out pills, but shells,
as out of battlefields they stare
from over sixty years ago
on far-off Guam or Guadalcanal.
With trembling hands they try to show
how the bravest or youngest fell.
We console them with a cold cup,
and a tender tap on the shoulder.
What haunts them, though, will not give up,
nor the fallen boys grow older.
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~Prisoner~
The frail cobwebThe peeling paintThe patient spiderThe good bookThe hard cockThe naked bulb-All I know of GodAs I enter and re-enterThis prayer.~Down in the Village~Too-the rats snortTheir own kindOf nirvanaIn the tunnelTo the sad placesBehind my eyes,Yon GolgothasFresh with new crossesEager to redeemFallen humanity.The discarded bagsOf chips,And the busted roachesOf the perpetuallyHighKnow the tedium,The noble…
Beneath the rowan berry,
with dew upon its snout,foe to the frog and beetle,always in the cornerof grey tabby cat eyes,it greets me as if Platoin the cave, I with beerdeposit bottles, and bellygraveyards towards heaventhat only I can peoplein Hades or at home.
‘Every living being is an engine geared to the wheelwork of the universe. Though seemingly affected only by its immediate surroundings, the sphere of external influence extends to infinite distance.’—Nikola Tesla
out of the mire, up to the skies.And so it is on a strange planetorbiting a distant star.The paradigmatic two eyescrawl out of the indifferent water,the wide lungs of a dinosaur,the father, mother, son and daughterof the first mammal in his jaws.A billion years will likely passbefore they walk on their two feet,a billion more…
(After a Black & White Photograph by Jared Carter)
seventy years ago? A familyof WASPS set in their ways? The leafless treein front was just a sapling then. Despairdid not weigh heavy on the owner’s brow,a man who paid his taxes, loved his wife,and who in ‘44 gave up his lifefor freedom. Who today cares or knows how?And now the house is boarded up,…
(Gleiwitz,1946)
closed since the Germans left the neighbourhood,crumbles in the pouring acid rain.Above, no bells toll for its dead; but stainupon stain marks the stones where Mary’s scarfrests at the bare feet of its heavy rood.
When Mary washed his feet he didn’t stare
blazed in his eyes, although her milky bust,thighs and neck were there for him. Her hairbrushed his calves, her hands reached past his knees.She was just doing what she’d always done.It was still early. Her lips had just begun.Her earthly thoughts commingled with the breeze.He focused on what was to come: his trial,his torture and…