Spring heat, a cherry / tree’s fresh bronze leaves fan out and gleam – to / converse with shades, yourself…
Summer grass is shoulder high once more, / higher than my sons will ever be.
i.m. Les Powici
/ Britten’s Pond, a July dusk
/ mayflies hazing the flat, brown water
/ as the day’s last rooks flowed into the trees
‘No metaphors swarm
/ around that fact, around that strangest thing,
/ that being that was and now no longer is.’
/ Iain Crichton Smith
End is in beginning;
/ And in beginning end:
/ Death is not loss, nor life winning;
/ But each and to each is friend.
/ The hands…
Have you seen men come from the Line,
/ Tottering, doddering, as if bad wine
/ Had drugged their very souls;
Take your risk of life and death
/ Underneath the open sky.
/ Live clean or go out quick –
/ Lads, you’re wanted. Come and…
/ Saints have adored the lofty soul of you.
/ Poets have whitened at your high renown.
/ We stand among the many millions who
Quo life, the warld is mine.
/ The floo’ers and trees, they’re a’ my ain.
/ I am the day, and the sunshine
/ Quo life,…
We sat together in silence.
/ The lost look in your eyes.
/ Once they were like eternal stars.
/ You were full of joy and…
Such as into Himself at last eternity changes him, / the Poet with a naked sword provokes / his century…
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
/ Are heap’d for the belovèd’s bed;
/ And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
/ Love itself…