POEMS FOR OLD ACQUAINTANCE (& THE BLUE)

                                                                         
                                                                                

                                                                              Time takes one hand and helps us up the stair,
                                                                              Time draws the shades down on our clouding eyes;
                                                                                         …now, as always, light is all we have."
                                                                                                    - "Tiepolo's Hound", Derek Walcott

                   [First you find what look like body feathers spry & sprouting.
                    You wonder, should I clip or shave or show? (Tattoos might work
                as mask.) What if loved ones ask 
Please, take off your clothes,
                grow old with me
?  Shrug. Look away.      

                What's that light flash pointing like auld Morse
                on the horizon? The code of Earth O2: breathe change > transform.
                The sky's the unknown new, now all
                you see? What else but give it a go.

                Lift from hard blows soft spreads, dry showerheads in office 
                youth eaters all; from history agents with shovels & ledgers
                and guns of hunger in the night; the kite strings of comrades
                shady from the sun, you'll fall! closer to us you belong!

                Watch out for envy flying glass, the call back of fears
                & jeers in tribe bluster; crows of bald pate ordure
                freshening. In the colon doubt might spore but rupture will
                self heal in Time's defragmenting blue bar.

                Don't, don't look down: the sea oblivious salting! not whales,
                groupers bilge pouting!       

                Hitchhiker once from bush through blood and oath,
                just one clear day snips cords. Catch the first light 
                out and away you go, when you fly you'll know:
                breath eyes wings, yes, I; new lang syne]-W.W.

 

 

                    HOME

                           nails your hands
                    to polished wood, points
                    a finger in your eyes red
                    with dreams of bridges which also
                    prevent your hands and eyes but, so far
                    unachieved, stengthen their pivot and stretch.
                         (from "Fabula Rasa" by Brian Chan) 

 

                  LIGHT

                  doesn't spite all day long
                  those who disdain it at dawn but
                  your appointment with the sun is
                  one faith you must keep or else
                  the golden chance you won't know
                  you miss in every sorry cell
                  of a soul riddled with dark.
                     (from "Thief With Leaf" by Brian Chan) 

 

                  A ROAD IN WINTER

                 The sky, however grey, is still the light
                 that mothered us and to which we must all
                 return to fill with other dreams like this
                 that, grey, moves nevertheless uphill and beyond.
                     (from "Fabula Rasa" by Brian Chan) 

 

                    

 

                        


       

                                                              

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Author: FarJourney Caribbean

Born in Guyana : Wyck Williams writes poetry and fiction. He lives in New York City. The poet Brian Chan lives in Alberta, Canada.

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