J G's Pages for Poets

Page No 28

 

Poem No 166

A villanelle from ROGER TABER

(Roger's latest book, First Person Plural

is now available - ISBN 0953983315)

SWORD OF DAMOCLES

Death haunts us
though we run free;
Sword of Damocles

Though happiness
an eternity,
death haunts us

Where stars confess
this world's insanity,
sword of Damocles

What redress
for flawed humanity?
Death haunts us

Love deserves
better ghosts than this;
Death haunts us,
sword of Damocles

 

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Poem  No 167

by BARBARA SMITH

 

THE CHEATING TRAIN

 

He should never

have played on the line

Only wellingtons remain

And angel watching

over the small grave

 

All that is left

of the little boy

who met a train

which cheated

and left on time

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Poem No 168

Another from NICK HANCOCK

 

SPACED-IN

I occupy this space

and take it with me where I go.

It's been to Cerro Largo and Rabat,

Johannesburg and Trois-Rivières.

No one, no thing can coincide with it.

And if I'm crushed? It simply shrinks:

no dual tenancies allowed.

 

One night I cycled from the Gulf of Suez,

panting with this space up a mountain road

when I heard barking and running feet

and was surrounded by Arabic-speaking soldiers.

I remembered the notices:

FOREIGNERS ARE FORBIDDEN TO LEAVE THE ROAD.

But I hadn't left it, had I?

 

I waited for a bullet to invade my space

yet knew that even such a hole,

final as it might be,

would not share the space in any way.

A Cairo law student

(the dignity of his learning had held him back)

walked up with rags of English

to save my space from an impossible intrusion.

 

Watch this space:

although filled by my cells

it's as empty as a light bulb.

 

 

 

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Poem No 169

from RICHIE FOY

THE CUT

 

The big Shire plodded along

pulling on the rope

No mercy to this worker with no hope

A tight tether, a slack filled barge

Pass by the boy and his bent pin

Sticklebacks disturbed

It was yesterday of course

But not for you my little one

The Shire has disappeared

The rope decayed

And the slack has burned

The barge is tarted up

Smoke puffs from the rear

A home where the slack once lay

Travelling the Leeds and Liverpool

We saw it today

On our way

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Poem No 170

thanks to PHILIP CARMEN

 

          No Stranger to a Song
 
The ragged traveller with baggy knees
Walks the avenue of trees.
His journey has been hard and long;
He is no stranger to a song.
 
He sings of encounters on the way.
Has many anecdotes to pass the time of day.
His journey has been hard and long;
He is no stranger to a song.
 
Now his journey is coming to an end.
Old age is approaching, he is frightened.
His journey has been hard and long;
He is no stranger to a song.
 
Now he has laid his troubles down.
Peace at last he now has found.
His journey has been hard and long;
He is no stranger to a song.
 
There is no travelling anymore.
He rests at last on the farther shore.
His journey has been hard and long;
He is no stranger to a song.
 
Philip Carmen (copyright)

 

For a link to Philip's own website see My Home Page

 

 

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