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The pregnant moment unable to spring forth
The hymns predicted from somewhere
The American/Russian poets in their song
As listen on a bench by the Thames
Those Poets range Tenor to heaven and beyond
Their muses of the sod, cold, snow, and fascism
Of the western line for either perspective –
Seen through undrunken eyes against communism
Some discarded cigarettes in an ashtray – a focus
The men play the last of the football
The girls plan the rest of the lives inclusively
The grass pollen forces nature on
Seeking the seat over the bay drowning on the horizon
… and the ocean’s muscle thuggery to break
The peaceable time against the dryness
The pregnant space – silence is king! Silence dictator.
Aphorisms carved in the poets flesh invisible to most.
Leaving among us ‘nothing but nothing’ leaving something
A voice is unrecognizable against the heat
A voice unknown is not listened to esse est percepti
Why do you say this poet; of time; of sun; of sin
Leaves a taste on the tongue that overwhelms
Why something that in warmth tastes so sweet
Yet with one lick turns to be as bitter as the devils sores
copyright 2012
Jonathan
Beale |
