Sunday, December 21, 2014

When Real Change Begins

You said a little bit about your heart
And its vocation. You had heard a call
And answered. "There's a sign, five metres tall,"
You told me, "telling us to make a start
At making things work, break despair apart."
You said you'd seen the writing on the wall,
But there was nothing visible at all,
No wall, no writing, no spray-painted art.

Your heart, like mine, is full of venal sins
And hope. Among authority, debate,
Regard, and truth, we're in a parlous state,
A world based solidly in garbage bins.
At some point, soon now, when real change begins,
Despair will be irrelevant. Just wait.

Sunday, December 07, 2014

Odd Thoughts

I wish I could explain. I can't explain.
You realize, I hope, what happened here:
There was a small kink in the atmosphere,
An element that runs against the grain,
Dark-coloured splashes on the windowpane,
A silent heartbeat with a dash of fear,
No more. When I felt something in my ear
I tilted smartly, but it wouldn't drain.

So I have water on my brain. It squeaks,
And presages catastrophe, abused
By strangers, hurt by friends, even accused
Of thinking odd thoughts. When my left knee creaks,
Then winter's on its way; the future speaks,
The moon is rising, and my lips are fused.