A weary man
walking through the essential strangeness of the universe.
Shut off,
too tired to feel anything but the weight of his bag,
and – unbelievably – bored.
Tag: landscape poetry
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Snow storm
A globe of white chaos rolls and swirls
amidst white nothing.
Horizon shrunk to naught
and random motion –
disorienting mess.
Cold saps both energy and thought.
The storm has come
to take away the world
and gift you peace. -
Rain
Today the rain is blue,
it smells of dying leaves,
it splashes in itself,
it plops in drops and drips;
today the rain is soft;
today the rain is warm;
the music of the rain
gives thought staccato form;
it washes off the dust,
it makes the pavement shine;
the street is flowing past;
the song of rain is mine! -
Morning
The mad eye of the sun is rising above suburban rooftops, tinting the morning fog blood-red, twisting bows of the trees – its arteries.
A frightened crow is yelling at it to stop, but it keeps coming – inexorable, implacable, indifferent;
making familiar landscape writhe out of the confines of expectations,
making commuters shudder and hunch their shoulders against the cosmic winds of uncertainty.
Breathe in deep the cold air, let the harsh silhouette imprint on your retinas
– today anything can happen. -
Past and Future
Our landscapes are haunted
by monuments of the past:
castles and churches –
protection from greed and fear.
New landscapes are coming,
new desolate surfaces – Moon and Mars,
inhabited by curiosity
how will they appear? -
Poppy fields
Drops of colour like drops of blood,
reminder of passion and death,
a heady concoction full of desperate joy.
