February 26, 2013

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              The Unconscious Island   

   

  The violent island cliffs high out of violet hazes

  Brooding in its bulk - A grave of rock and silent now

  But for the vague hiss of granite steaming in broken waves

   

  Here where once hoppers flicked across its baldness

  This timeless rock is circled by the scavenger

  And by-passed by the shag and only the braver piper

  Touches occasionally in the quieter coves

   

  And within its gut the frozen trees are stilled

  Wrapped up in one another like antiquated lovers

   

  There are no crows to call to - The wrens are gone

  The deer and coon have braved the sea to main

  And the earth is shattered

   

   

   Down in the leeward village where seiners once hove to

  And the night filled up with raw yelling and laughter

  And birds screamed as fish-heads were slung to the tide

  Whiskey once burned the fog out of man's bones

  As his warm woman trimmed his beard and washed him down by lamplight

  And went to bed with him and laughed softly in the night next to him

  As a dog barked somewhere in the mist

  And a lamb bleated at the moon

   

  Now the shingles crumbled on the frame and there was stillness

   

  There was a stillness too that long night back when animals and men

  Their mates - Birds - All the island creatures

  Slept exhausted in the womb-fog sea-lulled into dream

  It was then a wind came up to moan the night to sky-black

  And burned its lightning deep into a heaving forest world

  But the rain did not come

   

   

   

   

   

   

  • 9:39 am
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