Here
In wide spread of thumb and index finger
stubbly chin and fuzzed cheek tilted forty five
at dull quietude under a blank sky,
what once were churning feelings, now
are solid states, their constitutions stable,
anthems all written, their ruminations
background noise habit most filters out.
Locked gates on dark dock warehouses,
no longer entered - keyholders astray, retired,
shuffling a halting dance in some wharf-side bar,
to the inebriate swells of an accordion,
from pump to settle, careful
not to spill the mild in hand.
No news is all the news on these blank TVs;
but the greater mercy is that dreams don't come.
............................
There
Pigs on the borders, pigs on the borders
pigs repelling boarders, firing tear-gas.
Doctors on the borders, 'Doctors Without Borders'
under doctors' orders, treating people fast.
Pigs on the borders, pigs on the borders,
pigs repelling boarders, letting batons fly.
Children on the borders, children on the borders
in the doctors' 'clinics', gasping as they cry.
YOU ARE READING
Wintering
PoetryIt's yet another MajorSeventh. Hop on the big shoulders and look ... Lastest poems are always posted last in my collections. Winter. So, expect sparse gardens, late autumn and wintry countryside, wry philosophy and humour, tenderness towards litt...
