HOW THE CASSAVE MEASURES

 

                                                          "…..light like a feather, heavy as lead."
                                                                 Bob Marley, "Misty Morning"

               Flesh and blood unrest in youth with no tide no kumina
             chip foot print . grabbing any need repair with hands on
             wheels untrained for lanes only to be followed by gold
             rim rides from bonier faces pulled from gun lagoons for pock
             mark cases  ̶  as if scatteration was every general's first
             business of order.

             Which leaves the rally run come mask force with fronts
             to tier, galvanize alley ways for little ones to crouch
             behind till the day is over.

             Even our Nan's sheltering ankle hems step tight 'n' tense
             as the sun takes cover, time left no longer sustainable by
             dance habit such is the thatch dread of lamp flicker . boot
             raid limb lay rip _ redress . all you own.
                                        
                                            You reel? so you fold back . as fight
             we might at the holding yard where roosters louder call
             at dawn than head wrapped song and where . to next
             wind strong? 

             Kingdoms come . hearts packed wait each last flight out :
             crows hover blades swish dust requesting unlock words
             which, bark strips round her bed, our Granny passed :
               my Soul to Thee . with eye lash dew : "Mon Dieu!
                    what kept you so long?" 

                   As breath ends cabin belts release . navel cells
                   applaud a ground safe landing, faith complete.
                   Out side clutching lines doubt sky board times
                         >  short as a prance, this life.

                                                                      – W.W.

      

 
 
               

 

                  
 

                      

                          A FEATHER'S GRAVITY

                           'Strenght through assertiveness!'
                      And through strength?  Ageing, disease,
                 corruption and slow rotting
             to translate such compost into buds. 
             This is the field of flesh as a lot
                of stinkweed. Even popes get sick
                     and end up begging Heaven
                          for mercy. Even kings,
                          rich cowardly bullies
                     and heartless thugs must, on their
                death-beds, regret their feats of force.
             Not even a healthy lazy sage
             is free from earwigs and razor-grass. 
                Perhaps all such men are trying
                     too hard?  Whatever became
                          of plain-old wood-chopping
                          and water-fetching?  They
                              also are hard but at least
                the path they form between the shed,
             the river and the stars is not forced,
             except as a mantra may be thought
                to be forced, but is a willing
                     surrender to a sure glimpse
                          of Light beyond the gnomes
                          of pressure by weight, Light
                     beyond the weightless undines,
                 sylphs and angels of air and fire,
               Light behind masked eyes of hinting stars.

                    (from "Readiness" by Brian Chan)