Though he did not know it
Though he did not know it
the beggar who crutched his way
up the middle of the road in the middle of the night
sounded like the electric fence which goes
clack-clack-clack-clack… .
And confused those who were still awake
and listened for whose fence was faulty.
“It’s two houses down…no, it’s mine…no, it’s not…”.
And as the clacks receded none rose
to solve the moving fence of a man
whose crutches led him to a roofless home.
Dog in the garden
There’s a dog in the garden
small, less than the bushes where sand
warms its little sternum prow.
It belongs here, owned with name and collar,
part of the property but of emotional value mainly,
not that it knows this, nor anything of why
the people here keep it fed and housed,
something they are free to do without state interference
a fact rather unappreciated but very real.
Homecoming
A voice from a car
then a door closes it away
the shuffle of feet on driveway
a person on them moving
a voice again, unclear
like the one shut away
a door opens and the voice closes.
The worker is home.
Roses
It would be easier to live
without the presence of roses
they leave so much unknown
more than what lies beyond the seen stars
blinking ineffably every night
No answer
Rain was out and I was in.
Then rain was in and I was out
in the meadow with water
everywhere but up,
and a hasty brown outran the rest
tumbling and gushing its wherever way.
Some man said that the secret of life
is to listen to the river…
a river has no answer
Oyster Perpetual*
23:23
was the time the light went off.
in the dark the clock ciphers glowed
and dropped its ciphers into my oyster,
layer upon layer, building a deck
which will not lie hidden, like a wreck
but will be found, well, and above ground.
*the name of a famous Rolex watch
These poems show a strong individualism. I once tried to write poetry: I decided it was not my thing. I struggle to critique poetry: I lack the critical and analytical tools.
‘Though he did not know it’ successfully conveys the pathos of a life possessing nothing compared to lives so replete with material goods that these even include electric fences. And of course, behind these electric fences are properties crammed with goods.
The beggar, possessing nothing, confuses the home owners. No, they are not much concerned with the fact that they live in a society which permits of extremes of poverty alongside (in relative terms) extremes of wealth; those who possess so much are however concerned at the discordant note in their lives that the beggar causes. Literally: it is a sound that is not only out of place in their world, but which mimics the evidence of their wealth, namely, their electric fences. Little wonder they find it makes them anxious.
I wonder also at a society in which electric fences are a necessity. This is not yet the case in the part of the world where I live. Only multi-millionaires, plutocrats and pop stars possess electric fences around their properties.
Friend, your poems here show promise: I know enough to know that much. However, I think that you will find your style improves, the more you practice this challenging art. In ‘Roses’, for example, the syntax might be improved if, instead of having written ‘. . . they leave so much unknown – more than what lies beyond the seen stars . . . ‘ you had written ‘ . . . they leave much unknown – more even than the mystery beyond the charted stars . . .’
And now you know why I do not wish to take your poetry apart: I am not at all good at it, and I fear causing unhappiness and even offence if I do so. But you asked me to do so. Forgive me. You have the beginnings of a style here which is worth pursuing; do not leave off your poetry writing!