“Though lovers be lost, love shall not;
and Death shall have no Dominion.”
Dylan Thomas
Dalí’s Clock 5, 6 , & 7 / 7
5
In a distant ward,
an alarm bell rings.
White rabbit
with a syringe;
dark tunnel
down which
I must plunge;
bitter draught
I must drain
to change
my life
forever.
I wait for Dalí’s giraffe
to burst into flame
and call me
with its voice
of fire.
6
I grasp
with fingers of gorse
at moon and stars.
Everything I touch
turns into gold.
Sleek
aureate plumage,
bright tiger’s eye
of this yellowhammer
chipping at
his block of song.
7
When I lose it, whatever it is,
my fingers pick at seams,
tissues, skirts, shirts, jeans,
or strip a label from a bottle;
or they break bread, or
there are so many things I can do,
personal things.
On the table,
a vacant cereal bowl,
a silver teaspoon in a saucer,
an empty teacup
returning my round moon stare.
My hands terminate
in pointless needles.
They unpick stitches;
then try to knit them
back together again.
rogermoorepoet 
My hands terminate
in pointless needles.
They unpick stitches;
then try to knit them
back together again.
I loved the “pointless needles” continually working toward nothing. It is a humbling and thought-provoking piece.
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Thanks, Tanya. That’s the first poem from Though Lovers Be Lost. There are six in all and I’ll start the next one tomorrow. A very different sequence from the Oaxaca poems and the poetry so different from the prose.
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I love the imagery too, both the imaginative and the real … hands terminating in needles! Oooh!
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Omnia vulnerant, ultima necit / each one wounds, the last one ….. who knows what the last one brings? How did Ivor Gurney go???
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I got swept up in reading the introduction in the beginning of the book! His bio and the chronology. So I didn’t read any of the poems yet. The collection begins with poems from Severne and Somme so I imagine they will be sad… I might start in the middle! 🙂
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The biography is so sad. I can’t believe all that night walking under the stars. No wonder he felt trapped inside.
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Gorse is very much a part of life in South Wales, especially along the coast and on the hills. I always remember its bright yellow spring flowers. I enjoyed your virtual tours when you were doing them, too.
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I like the references to the repetitive … The futility of the circle. When I did my virtual tour of Cornwall, the gorse was everywhere along the coast, so I can see the images in your poem.
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