I don't think
anybody actually
said the word
but many had it
on their lips
that afternoon
and it was definitely
in the air
when the rain started
being English
we were used to
Michael Fish
presenting the weather
and saying such things
as It's all change, I'm afraid
on a bank holiday
when you wanted
to go for a walk
or a ramble
even 'round the corner
to the shops
but that Monday
was different
in other ways
that were not so obvious
the heather
was more scented
for instance
whites and purples
and reds were
more vibrant as well
and while I breathed
the soul
of self-forgetfulness
and practised the art
of self-effacement
and yielded
to hope and bewitchment
yet I failed
to scan
or
to rhyme
lacking meter
or repetition
yet returning
with the spirit
of something
vaguely poetic
was it ecstasy
I wonder
was it still verse
however blank or blue
was it Nietzsche
going back
to shake hands
with Hegel
spurring the horse
of spirit
until it rears
and throws
the rider
headlong
into the turf
such are the returns
of birthdays
and anniversaries
and other hurts
too impolite
to mention
but hope
invariably
regroups
like the mainspring
of a watch
a tractor
to the turf
plowing
against the hope
of planting
and growth
and rebirth
and the end
of yearning
for a moment
while we sate
appetite
and rest
until the granaries empty
and the barter
of bags
for cash
begets nothing more
than the miller's share
to eat
then we put
our shoulders
to the wheel
and begin again
with the word
that remained unspoken
moving ominously
on the face of the deep
stopping
to take stock
of tree and rock
of fish and birds
and other curious clockworks
to the key
anybody actually
said the word
but many had it
on their lips
that afternoon
and it was definitely
in the air
when the rain started
we were used to
Michael Fish
presenting the weather
as It's all change, I'm afraid
on a bank holiday
when you wanted
to go for a walk
or a ramble
even 'round the corner
to the shops
but that Monday
was different
in other ways
that were not so obvious
the heather
was more scented
for instance
whites and purples
and reds were
more vibrant as well
the soul
of self-forgetfulness
and practised the art
of self-effacement
and yielded
to hope and bewitchment
yet I failed
to scan
or
to rhyme
lacking meter
or repetition
yet returning
with the spirit
of something
vaguely poetic
was it ecstasy
I wonder
was it still verse
however blank or blue
was it Nietzsche
to shake hands
with Hegel
spurring the horse
of spirit
until it rears
the rider
headlong
into the turf
such are the returns
of birthdays
and anniversaries
and other hurts
too impolite
to mention
but hope
invariably
regroups
like the mainspring
of a watch
plowing
against the hope
of planting
and growth
and rebirth
and the end
of yearning
for a moment
while we sate
appetite
and rest
until the granaries empty
and the barter
of bags
for cash
than the miller's share
to eat
then we put
our shoulders
to the wheel
with the word
that remained unspoken
moving ominously
on the face of the deep
to take stock
of tree and rock
of fish and birds
and other curious clockworks
to the key
we began
by observing
that nobody actually
said the word
that
in some circles is
a prayer
that
we be healed
and we're still
at that spot
nobody
having spoken the word
or moved their lips even
in silent reading
but can we leave it there
without wing or prayer
only love
and hope
can abide
such a barren
benediction
holding out
for self-protection
more than suspense.
Comments
Post a Comment