Here too
antecedent winds
dry the land
for weeks
before the season
that smoulders
in record books
turn turn turn
the end of time
or just tomorrow
is it the song
you sing to
sing no more for
anything yes
a time to break down
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I'll be humming... this goodie one Rob
ReplyDeleteCheers Jeffree :)
DeleteIn the Microscope (Miroslav Holub)
ReplyDeleteHere too
are dreaming landscapes,
lunar, derelict.
Here too are the masses
tillers of the soil.
And cells, fighters
who lay down their lives
for a song.
Here too are cemeteries,
fame and snow.
And I hear murmuring,
the revolt of immense estates.
Very interesting. Cheers Kit. I read Holub years ago of course — and this fine poem is far better than mine. I suppose if he'd referenced Australian bush fires and Ecclesiastes in his poem or if I'd used the words revolt and microscope in mine, the jig would be up! :)
ReplyDelete