Pallid of Organ
A lifetime passes on
Before my very eyes...
Unconvincing hours turn to months
Each season sprinkled with a spicing ginger
Of it’s own..
Small boats on a November shore
Dark men in evening light slip out to fish for herring in the night
Byzantine clouds lie low ..white gold
On flat glass sea
But now the wind is up the morning comes ...
It rattles at the window like a mad and starving dog
And shakes within my skull still full of dreams
Which slip away thru some wild gap and are forever gone .
I rise up from my bed dissatisfied with friend and foe
No sock will fit my shoe ,a restless heated rat within my heart
Gnaws at my peace of mind
Leaves me ...pallid of organ, wilted of will, to face the day..
The Ash Tree’s fallen leaves may be its last...the Gunnera is dead.
Slumped in a chair with
I play the Sacred Songs so loud
Those far off voices soaring strong and fevered
F rom a continent of oligarchs ,
Solace from sad pathos fills the room
I sink into a glorious gloom .... seductive sorrow
Which suits my mood of something deeply lost.
Sing on my Ukraine Friends.. full of Song...sing on ...sing your song...
Standing at the window .. daylight fades to dusk
Alluring light and shadow play a pas de deux
The hours pass without event or company
....there is no one
No one at all whose time is shared with me..
But then, I do not seek them out
...My loss that is a weight within
So heavy , I’d drown should I swim...
Black crows , Blue Tits , the Robin and two Doves
Are my best company
I talk to radios..a day is passed like this
Kristine Byrne 20th Nov 2012