Południowy krzyż

They have walked many a lonely mile
to reach the edge of the forest
They have crossed frozen oceans and danced
in plains of swaying gold

They walked in a single file
without stopping once to rest
They swaggered and they strutted and they pranced
and watched the skt above unfold

They have penetrated the still shadows
stretched across the trees
They have broken the fragile threads of light
that hang through the branches from the sky

They entered amidst the timid throes
Of the things that live beneath the canopies
They trod the carpet of black and white
and they lay on the ground and sighed:

"THIS IS THE END OF THE ROAD"




The title is in Polish, but I might have got the declination wrong. It is the name of an oak in Białowieża forest shaped like a 120 ft high cross, that used to be a place of pilgrimage. I'm not entirely sure yet about this poem - you be the judges.

Hills like Veils

I tried to write a poem

about the city of Rome

and all I could come up with was this:

City of flickering lights

And old stones

Millions have tried to write

About Rome

City of romantic love

And museums

A million poets have dreamed of

A million poems

Why will you not yield

To the rage

Of the pen upon the field

Of the page?

Are you too grand, too old

Or too mighty?

Do you not like to be told

Of your own beauty?

You have baffled me

I admit

As you have before me

Much sharper wits.

Poem written in Rome, on February the 27th.
You may have noticed from the previous poe and this one that I am opening up to new influences, less solemn and less passionate. Don't get used to it.

Broken Things

We have journeyed many years
Swum through laughter and through tears
It has taken many an ended row
To be where we are now.

Even now that we've come to this place
The light of love still graces your face
In the wrinkled shadows your eyes
still shine a bit -
Your left eye laughs and your right eye cries.

Something dripping catches my ear
It may be the tap and it ay be a tear
hitting the carpet.
But we're a happy couple with a house, a dog, a Rover
so I keep reading
the fucking newspaper
Warm and safe in the comfort of the sofa.

We have come a long way together
and it's not enough
I think, as we sit opposite each other
and chew.
We have seen long sumer days
or at least
between rainstorms
Through the quiet English haze
we have glimpsed them.

We have come to that point, we say
with affection
Where we can sit together all day
in silence
but not boredom
Because we know each other so well
and feel
so comfortable
That there is no such thing as a dry spell
in th lush garden
of our love.

I sit and sip and feel the caffeine
after dinner
As you clear and wash up and tidy and clean
gracefully
like it's no chore.
There's a smell from the kitchen of something sad
so I light a fag
and inhale
And think of all the good times we have had.
I chuckle
as I look from the television
to the garden
complete with shed and lawnmower.


...and I hear something drip again.




Du nouveau en Anglais et bientot du nouveau en Francais!
(j'entends deja les hourras...)
Je sais, vous n'osiez plus l'esperer...