38

38 Hot hot boiling the flood rises welling up throat-way out lips hear me the small boy whispered in his dream chasing a tennis-ball over the top of the world hear me the mouth of the youth stumbled and cried dazed but awake in a room of battered furniture hear me the...

Harvest

Harvest by Van Gogh 1 Ladders against a haystack, an empty cart large-wheeled, long-handled; acres of yellow field; and in the foreground crudely fenced apart some large green produce. Here and there take part a handful of humans whose sure ways engross the watching...

The Argument

The Argument After a precious week of Indian summer had carried on the torch a wet mid-year had let slip – and itself had gone, I went out into October skies, the half-light thick on the hills, where rain and sun repeatedly took issue: a battle of wills. Always in...

The Glimpse

The GlimpseI catch an unexpected glimpseof far-off rooves, black windows andsome towers and arches, chimney-tips . . .and I am in a foreign land.I do not try to understandthis transportation (for I seethe same as I have often scanned . . . )but let the newness conquer...

The Flame

The Flame Surely it is not meant . . . this warmth of hands kindling in me a breath of pure content, this red-filled room that holds a love that understands . . . it is not meant. I came to you through savage night, driving the motor-bike of my head out of the...

Too Long

Too Long I have gone on too long without that nearnesswhich is the herald of new life in me.I have gone on, but in a kind of drearness,a poetless inert activity.I have made no more songs; but eaten, workedand played and rested; each day I have risento a dead-still...