Saturday, May 11, 2019
Alice Oswald, A Rushed Account of the Dew
A Rushed Account of the Dew
I who can blink
to break the spell of daylight
to break the spell of daylight
and what a sliding screen between worlds
is a blink
is a blink
I who can hear the last three seconds in my head
but the present is beyond me
listen
but the present is beyond me
listen
in this tiny moment of reflexion
I want to work out what it’s like to descend
out of the dawn’s mind
I want to work out what it’s like to descend
out of the dawn’s mind
and find a leaf and fasten the known to the unknown
with a liquid cufflink
and then unfasten
with a liquid cufflink
and then unfasten
to be brief
to be almost actual
oh pristine example
of claiming a place on the earth
only to cancel
of claiming a place on the earth
only to cancel
imtiaz dharker, Prayer
Prayer
The place is full of worshippers.
You can tell by the sandals
piled outside, the owners’ prints
worn into leather, rubber, plastic,
a picture clearer than their faces
put together, with some originality,
brows and eyes, the slant
of cheek to chin.
You can tell by the sandals
piled outside, the owners’ prints
worn into leather, rubber, plastic,
a picture clearer than their faces
put together, with some originality,
brows and eyes, the slant
of cheek to chin.
What prayer are they whispering?
Each one has left a mark,
the perfect pattern of a need,
sole and heel and toe
in dark, curved patches,
heels worn down,
thongs ragged, mended many times.
Each one has left a mark,
the perfect pattern of a need,
sole and heel and toe
in dark, curved patches,
heels worn down,
thongs ragged, mended many times.
So many shuffling hopes,
pounded into print,
as clear as the pages of holy books,
illuminated with the glint
of gold around the lettering.
pounded into print,
as clear as the pages of holy books,
illuminated with the glint
of gold around the lettering.
What are they whispering?
Outside, in the sun,
such a quiet crowd
of shoes, thrown together
like a thousand prayers
washing against the walls of God.
Outside, in the sun,
such a quiet crowd
of shoes, thrown together
like a thousand prayers
washing against the walls of God.
imtiaz dharker
Safe Sounds, Carol Ann Duffy
Safe Sounds
You like safe sounds:
the dogs lapping at their bowls;
the pop of a cork on a bottle of plonk
as your mother cooks;
the Match of the Day theme tune
and Doctor Who-oo-oo.
the dogs lapping at their bowls;
the pop of a cork on a bottle of plonk
as your mother cooks;
the Match of the Day theme tune
and Doctor Who-oo-oo.
Safe sounds:
your name called, two happy syllables
from the bottom to the top of the house;
your daft ring tone; the low gargle
of hot water in bubbles. Half asleep
in the drifting boat of your bed,
you like to hear the big trees
sound like the sea instead.
your name called, two happy syllables
from the bottom to the top of the house;
your daft ring tone; the low gargle
of hot water in bubbles. Half asleep
in the drifting boat of your bed,
you like to hear the big trees
sound like the sea instead.
Carol Ann Duffy
The Dark, Carol Ann Duffy
The Dark
If you think of the dark
as a black park
and the moon as a bounced ball,
then there’s nothing to be frightened of
at all.
as a black park
and the moon as a bounced ball,
then there’s nothing to be frightened of
at all.
(Except for aliens…)
Carol Ann Duffy
Bird,Simon Armitage
Bird
Oh small thin flute
in your long silver coat,
with your sixpence buttons
like moon-coloured medals,
and your tight little throat
and twittering, fluttering, tip-toeing notes.
Oh small thin flute,
once you've been heard
you're no flute:
you're a bird.
Simon Armitage
Oh small thin flute
in your long silver coat,
with your sixpence buttons
like moon-coloured medals,
and your tight little throat
and twittering, fluttering, tip-toeing notes.
Oh small thin flute,
once you've been heard
you're no flute:
you're a bird.
Simon Armitage
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