Footsteps

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Footsteps
(23 April, 1616 AD)

rain fills the sky
mizzle and mist
low clouds
raindrops

a touch of snow
on trees grass
steady this
accumulation

where now
their warm hearts
their word-wealth

memories wrap
a warm scarf
around your neck

books beckon
let us now
talk with our eyes
to writers

Cevantes Shakespeare
El Inca Garcilaso
and many others
long since dead
though thought and word
their footsteps linger on

Comment:

Today, 23 April 2019, is international book day. We celebrate the works of Cervantes, Shakespeare, and El Inca Garcilasso, all of whom died on this date in 1616. Given the two different calendars, Gregorian and Julian, they actually died ten days apart, but the date was the same. We also support and celebrate all other others on this date, so Happy International Book Day, everyone, and keep writing.

That Wall

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That Wall
(1953 AD)

build that wall
top it with wet cement
place bottles in a row
sign it date it
carve the barrier in stone

when the cement sets
break those bottles
impenetrable barriers

walled now this garden
its interior holy of holies
a paradise for the chosen few
peace and roses only a dream
glimpsed from the outside

a climber climbs
rips flesh shreds clothes
mottles concrete with blood
wet washing hung in fleshy strips
a red flag now this Siegfried line
its shattered glass wire
its see-through brittle anger
excluding all intruders

walled this garden studio
this monument
built by my father
seeking to block who out
trying to lock who and what in

Swans

 

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Swans
(at the Vetch Field)

(circa 1950 AD)

White
their plumage
fierce eyes
folded angels’ wings
black-booted feet
paddling urgent
driving them on

skilled and silky
swift lunge
capable of breaking
leg or arm

all white ghosts
those swans
bodies and spirits
earthly dance done
long since gone
flown to the sky

anonymous
constellations spread
milky feathers
winged like swans

Comment:

The Vetch Field is where Swansea Town (now Swansea City) used to play their soccer. My father took me regularly to see the Swans play and, when young, I preferred the round ball game to the oval ball game. Swansea Town were always known as the Swans and the rugby team were always called the All Whites. No Ospreys and colored uniforms in those days and also no money in the rugby: everything was amateur. The inter-relationship of images in the poem above changes when the reader learns that the Vetch Field is also where the shroud-wrapped bodies of those prisoners who were hanged in nearby Swansea Jail were rumored to be buried. This may or may not be true, but be it myth or legend or plain falsehood, it gives added dimensions  to the imagery in this poem.

Orphanage

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Orphanage
(circa 1948 AD)

black crucifix
ivory figurine
white walls
cowled heads
downcast eyes

holy water
damp fingertips
genuflection
sign of the cross
in nomine …

salt tang of tears
wax-scented floors
flip flop of leather
sandals without socks

brown robes
black skirts
hair covered
white wimples
rattling of rosaries
telling of beads

musty confessionals
shaped and shamed
by shadowy sins

time without end
dustless and clean
cleaner than consciences

 

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Shipwreck

 

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Shipwreck
(1914 AD)

they came for the burial
more civilized than
ritual burning

one by one
victims gathered up
held in one last hug

empty coffins
stood in rows
waiting to be filled

bodies on the beach
scarred in an after life
black and white

stark their weird
bones bleached
among sea-weed

done the deed now
coffins filled
lids nailed down

high tide mark
carapace charred wood
rusted iron

bright bones
long dead creatures
slow washing of hands

relentless actions
wind sandpaper sea
tear-filled skies

 

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Samaritan

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Samaritan
(1890 AD)

I lived with him
he treated me well

to him
I was the other
yet he fed me
when I hungered
gave water
when I ran dry

I fell ill
he cared for me
nursed me back
to health

he taught me
his language
culture history
traditional skills

he loved me
never forced me
to forget myself
and be like him

he made me
what I am today
a discerner
between
light and dark
still the other

 

Aye, aye

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Aye, aye
(8 April 2019)

I am my eye
this eye
my left eye

rapid heartbeat
shallow breathing
tautness in chest
this is all about
my eye

frozen with gel
disinfected
bathed in iodine
it nestles in a nest
loitering with intent
within a blue tent
filled with oxygen

three bright lights
surgeon’s fingers
surgical instruments
moving shapes
this eye my eye
sees them draw near
then fade away

machines hum
laser beams bite
extract then implant
more liquids
face patted dry
dark glasses appear
smiles all around

“Oh my eye
and
Betty Martin!”

this eye
is not an eye
because you see it
it’s an eye
because it
once more sees you

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Paradise Lost

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Paradise Lost
(1667 AD)

nobody answers
bewitched by your knock
ultimate betrayal
front door locked

cold finger elegies
devils ascending
rhythmic drumming
rain descending

knock again louder
nobody’s replies
ahoy there the house
nobody’s inside

memories flutter
life’s dead butterflies
doorstep-marooned
look around take stock

ghosts watch from windows
sockets open in shock
that key in your pocket
might open the lock

a mystical place
between heaven and earth
land of my fathers
house of my birth

Tangled Garden

 

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Tangled Garden
(1916 AD)

indoor daffodils
drink water
dosed with chemicals
survive in a vase
refuse to crumple
won’t furl their flags

outside
sunshine and shade
Cape Daisies Peonies
Sunflowers
Black-eyed Susan
threading her colored ribbons
through butterflies
and Bees Balm

towering the Hollyhock
seeded by a surprise wind
coming in from nowhere

weeds crowd together
vox populi
these dandelions
beloved of the gods
ubiquitous
totally indestructible

Copperopolis

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Copperopolis
(1717 / 1804)

mountains of the moon
lunar landscapes
lunatic fringes
mercury madness
running through brains

scabs picked
wounds running raw
skin blotched red
eyes blurred
twitching

wait a hundred years
grass might grow back
earth might give flowers
bay waters might flow free

my grandfather coughs
his lungs up
bit by bit

he’ll never again know
the scent of flowers
taste oysters from the bay
smell sea-fresh air