The Interview

[afishamongmany]

The Interview
Written after hearing, on the radio, an interview with a man recently released from death row.

Twenty three years, in a box, waiting to die.
The man, now out, was asked about,
His condition.
His reply,
Was halting.
The silences of those years
Pervaded his speech like shadows
Cast across a face,
By bars, by men in uniform.

The interviewer was unsure, wanting,
To be compassionate, while coaxing out,
From the shadow of death, words,
That would be signs of life
To the listeners, wanting,
To be compassionate.

"I badly need to sleep.
I feel,
nothing."
"My family, my family."
"People are giving me grief.
No relief,
Yet."

His words are like messages in bottles
Washed up on the sands
Of the six o'clock news.
Coming from a far land
Across a dismal sea
To a beach-combing people
Taking their ease.

A beastly machine has sprung him out.
Because someone bothered
To push the right buttons.
But now, out of the box,
Without an ounce of spring in him,
When will he be free
To answer questions
As though they mattered?

><>

 

[Roadrunner3]

How much can the human psyche take?
><>, your poem gives us a nice glimpse into a deep wound. Very well done!
RR

 

[afishamongmany]

Tough Going

Like a misfiring motor kangarooing around,
Bound to the ground I manage to move
In the direction taken by time.
But wanting to be
An arrow not a confused ant,
I look up, down, around, I sigh, I whir, I whine.
But above and beyond
The clatter of cogs that clogs up my mind,
A sweet hum comes,
“You're mine to refine.
Keep chugging!”

><>

 

[afishamongmany]

A Righteous King

Where are the priests and levites
And all the righteous kings,
Who commanded the people to do right
And gifts to God to bring?

They restored the feasts and festivals.
They broke the idol's thrall.
They built the walls of Jerusalem,
That faithlessness made fall.

Long gone is Hezekiah
And the levite has passed by.
The words of God have no crier
But those who love God, they cry.

The sheep are scattered, but patience,
Though the rule of wolves seems long,
A righteous King will entrance
And priests will burst into song.

><>

 

[afishamongmany]

The Joke
Magpies strut the wide lawn.
Cocky and menacing they boast about
Under cloud scudding skies.

Looking for spoil the gang disperses,
Each with a glint in his eye.
"We're the boys! Don't mess with us."
"Especially you poets, watch out!"
"We gouge and gobble up
Any prying eyes spying around."

One swaggers purposefully in my direction
His tail straight out behind him,
Underlining his black and white confidence.

But then comes a gust, another and more
Now Magpie Menace looks far less sure.
The wind takes apart his tail,
Curls it up and makes it flail.
Ha! What do I see? Can it be true?
Mr. Menace is become cockatoo.

From a threat he is changed to a comic deranged.
Just a movement of air his feathers did bend
And gone the proud stare of our black and white friend.

Magpies strut but jubilee,
Wait for the wind and you will see
Menace becomes a mockery.

><>

 

[Roadrunner3]

Awesome, amazing and incredibly creative!
I am very much stuck on the image of "cloud scudding skies".
Keep 'em coming!
RR

 

[afishamongmany]

And There Was and There will Be

Let there be water.
Let it be called pond.
Let trunk and branch and leaf arise around it,
Walling the sky’s mirror against too much.
Let small plump birds paddle its silk surface,
Their calls echoing ancient creation.
Let stiff winged things fly and dart about
Above stiff legged things that skim
A criss-cross the water’s top.
And let beneath flash silver through the murk.
Let it rise and ripple and vanish
In its other world.
Let sun shine and moon.
Let clouds pass.
Let day and night.
Let wind and rain.
And one morning
When the grass is as wet as water
And sky, trees, soft breeze whisper
Glory, glory, glory,
Let a young man come there
From too much, carrying a rod.
Let him sit, savour, search the deep for silver.
And let, O Lord, who said,
Let it be, it be
That he finds enough,
Is filled and goes happy away.
°°°°°°°°°°°°°
><>

 

[afishamongmany]

End of Day Play

Ran my dog around the field
The gloom illumined by crescent moon
And the light left behind
By the sunken sun.
But really he ran me around.
Around in an arc he streaked
Fur flying with furiously fleet feet
Speeding him to a sudden stop,
To see where was his man,
That curious creature with only two legs
And oh so ponderous.
I leapt and ran my run at him.
He crouched, muscles at the ready,
Every hair tensed for the moment.
He fixed my clumping shape
Closing the space between us,

Till,

Up and away he streaked
Away from the lessening light
Left by the sunken sun
Toward the crescent moon night
Above the dipping down field.
He twisted, he turned, skitted and skudded,
As though I really was snapping and snarling
At his flying flapping ears.
He arced around as though flung
By the bond between us
Then flumped down - still - to wait for more.
But the fun like the day was done.
And the sunken sun had taken all its light.
And the crescent moon hung like a smile
Over the trotting dog
And his homeward heading man.

><>

 

[Roadrunner3]

I just read And There Was and There will Be. I can hear the frogs plop into the pond, feel the tick crawling up my leg, feel the sultry heat that is tolerable because my feet are barefoot in the water, feel time slip away. Thanks for the transport, afish. This is a poem the reader can feel, become immersed in, enjoy with their heavy pack beside them, then be pleasantly surprised that it is a little lighter when picked back up. Be sure to put this in your next book!
RR3

 

[afishamongmany]

On Observing Ants

Disturbed they scurry about,
Searching for the safety of darkness.
Their world is no longer what they want it to be.
But they continue to touch antennae
And carry eggs.

Maybe the one who has disheveled their world
Is not malicious but sympathetic?
Even so, how can there not be resentment?
___________________________________
><>

 

[afishamongmany]

The Masses

The masses rise up!
The masses sit down!
The masses spend their pennies.
Then they get bored
And want their future assured
But God isn't having any.
They sidle round sin
And with idols begin
To bow and kowtow, expecting,
Their dreams to come true,
Their schemes to come through,
Heaven and earth connecting.
But being depressed and sorely oppressed,
They do as they’re told and vaguely grow old,
Wondering what the point is.
Except for those few, who know who they knew,
And came through
To the Promise.

Important postscript: The masses are not “them and us”. They are "us and us".
><>

 

[afishamongmany]

No Star was seen

To You who art
To me, when I see
The made star night
Looming, enfolding,
Displacing the confusion
Of maps and charts.

A darkness that is as light
As the day when
The sweat and the blood
Tasted by a dying thief
Glistened, glistened, glistened,
While the hot sky
Darkened, darkened, darkened.

No star was seen
But looming,
Falling, falling, was felt
The anger, displaced
From me to You
Who art.

><>

 

[Roadrunner3]

Fascinating image of Calvary and that hot anger that fell on Christ so we could be free.
This gave me some clarity this morning. Thanks!
RR3