SELECTED POEMS
Aftermath (excerpts)
I
Among the rubble of a Tuesday afternoon
Lies a culture, stock still, its ego
Burned and scattered, like too many
Adolescences at once. The world vibrates
In nauseous shock. Little Gidding, Dresden,
Pearl Harbor and New York come very close.Pray for us now and at the hour of our death
IIAmong the rubble of the future-as-it-was,
Pax Romana. Come into the wardrobe, out
>From under the bed: a direct hit
Will kill, wherever we are. Later we'll go
For a pint, but first, look there -
The lion slouches yet.Tumnus's death shall not be in vain
IVAmong the rubble of these office blocks,
A fireman throws up, and on a mobile phone
Another orders skunk, while in the bath
Another scrubs and scrubs and scrubs,
But sweat and bloody tears
Come much too fast, and so he mouthsHoly Mary, mother of God
VAmong the rubble of a Tuesday afternoon,
The living and the dead, for rescue knocks
A phantom menace. A film of dust
Cakes the cinema, and this new Fight Club
Isn't for the cameras. From east to west
Nation speaks peace unto nation, so that
A perfect offering may be tried, at least.Git inside, ma. Storm's a-comin'
Pray for us.
2001
Ali-Cats
The artexed ceiling of a living room
Protects a backstreet's double yellow lines
Whose course across the stone-brick floor defines
This bar's no-parking zone. Within this gloomThe feeble spotlights serve to illustrate
Some random words depicted on the walls
That, when the clapped-out conversation stalls
Its tank will fuel, its body renovate.How many exchanges will these beacons save
>From rocks of what-to-say, of all-seems-spent,
Communicative currency present
And keep the evening from an early grave?And for those without urge or chance to spend?
For lovers with their pupil-widened eyes
Transacting gazes, or the resigned sighs
Of, lost in thought, the single-without-friend?These, too, are catered for. Reverberate
The speakers and the very soul in phase -
Track on relentless track the music plays
On minds and attitudes. The night grows late;I'll finish my third cider, turn to go,
Possessor of a fed-and-watered love,
And hit the chilly Brighton street above,
With alcohol and thoughts of you aglow.
The Wait
Armed to the teeth with beauty, just in case,
Book on hand, to look at, not to read,
Relaxation declines the dance, and need,
If faintly, still is etched upon your face...Light bounces off the buses that won't stop
Driving their tyre-treads across your brain,
Weakening further the cracking water-main
Of spring-loaded eyes, as hopeful spirits drop.O lucky girl! Take heart - he will be here;
Although a little late, yet has he passed
La Mira, his crossword blank; but when at last
5 Down resolves itself shall joy appearWithin his countenance, all dark shades flee
And Venus guide his wingéd thoughts to theeboth 1998
Refereeing
Watch from the lines. Assume the black
and the whistle. On either side
will be entertainment.
Balance on that pivot. Reject
whoever you were, for what you are now
is Arbiter, Rome, where all roads lead.
The earth will move with your joy,
your wisdom will be sought
and all you feared you thought
will fall and be buried like Troy.
2001
miniature prayer for my wife
Unnumbered tomorrows isolate
from the Most High Current
our devices. Our pins await
the double-plug crescent
that will adorn our arms.
Power-sharing is the future,
as for each other's harms
we provide the suture.
Our junta, if the words be true,
will never be broken
till with all souls, you
and I in God are woken.
2002
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