Tuesday, 20 March 2012
The groaning gears of the World
grind on their shattered axle. Now observe
a trivial man trying to put things right.
Has he not seen, has no one seen the mist,
the creeping mist coming from top of pic
to thwart his wrenching? God, how he wrenches.
Look up good man! Can you not see the dust
of raven haunted prophecy that swallows
the vast meridian star by star
in the pocked night sky? And thus confronted
you with your four foot wrench and puny arms
are like a seaman on the doomed Titanic
rearranging deck chairs and soothing
the First Class saying, "Nay, the ship's not burst-
-ing at the seams. We have stopped a while
to take on board fresh ice, that's all.
Shut your cabin doors against the iron rings
of truth and let's away. Yes, let's away!"
An attempt at a Magpie by one who believes poetry knows no bounds.