Tuesday, March 21, 2017

James Walton #44 Richard III before Bosworth Field

The ones I don’t recognize
are the inconstant future
of this rolling wave

within the crest they look at me
the past the present the maybe
not quite fish

but a flapping form
gelatinous in their knowledge
accusing me of only attending

four funerals in my life
with no regard for the little Princes
damn their sqiddy insistence

the rap rap rap of so many arms
ban all these fucking ceremonies
this is the surf of remission

the writing in the sand
draw a line through the guilty
erase Antony’s better lines

neon above the Tower
cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war
my horse’s name escapes me.


  1. James, this poem just keeps on getting better and better the more times I read it. Terrific stuff.

  2. James - totally agree with Rob - this poem is so powerful and evocative - and each time I read it, get something more out of it.


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