The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
It all depends, you see, how you go about it. And that I cannot tell you, for that will be dictated by you and by you knowing your friends...
extract from the poem Koi by John Burnside All afternoon we've wandered from the pool to alpine beds and roses ...
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This post has in a sense been handed to me by two or three responses to my post On not getting it. In the course of discussing how a reade...
Saturday, 16 April 2011
As man stands waiting
As man stands waiting on the waterfront -
one front of many fronts of all the waters of the earth,
the sea is taking over from the land
the way that something that is neither day nor night
is taking over from the sun and moon -
the ocean, which he's always felt emergent,
still moving forward from its days as primal soup,
has gone into reverse, moved with the sun and moon towards
a time that will not be, or if it is, will never end; a time
when light and dark will clasp each other. A last gasp
before the last extinction. Sea has ownership of sky,
has spawned a dozen whirlpools where the clouds once were.
Seen through careening walls of water,
a dark and greening sun.
Appropriate, that sea, his cradle,
is to take him back the way he was before:
his flesh and all the flesh and fowl that share the earth with him -
or have done until now.
The wind has tripled many times the height and strength of waves
and driven them against the last remaining land
to splinter them in spray.
That which was solid and eternal as the hills
has ebbed away.
This is my contribution for today to Writers Island's NATIONAL POETRY's Free Writing Month.