Banished
Bundle-of-lint, get back into
your cubbyhole,
into your linen drawer, your
kettle of fish heads.
To the seeping wound from whence
thou came.
Silk-purse-out-of-a-sow’s-ear,
get back down into your hole of
holes.
Return to the smirking mouth of
the salamander.
To the bottom of your olive jar.
To the glove compartment of a
burning sedan.
Mister-face-like-a-slapped- backside
–
exit with the staged play’s
walk-on mob.
Back to your shallow-dug grave
in the woods.
Return to your shoebox hidden
under the bed.
To your gouged hill scarred with
aircraft debris.
Go, and never trouble this
existence again.
And may your shadow never cross
another’s.
Day’s End
Sundown, which is a book
closing,
which is the last page turned
in a story unwillingly
relinquished,
starlings crowding cloudbanks to
the east,
the west glowering, so proud of
itself
and the great works the Earth
has accomplished.
When one moment catches sight of
another,
short-winded from breathless
passages,
the mind idly strolling about,
wandering
toward the swirling mists we
term ‘pre-history’,
seeing there the old made new,
long before the slang of our
time
and its ream of ambiguities,
written in blood
and on stone, their messages
sealed always.
Pushcart-nominee
Bruce McRae is a Canadian musician with over 800 publications, including
Poetry.com and The North American Review. His first book, ‘The So-Called
Sonnets’ is available from the Silenced Press website or via Amazon books. To
hear his music and view more poems visit his website: www.bpmcrae.com, or ‘TheBruceMcRaeChannel’ on
Youtube.
No comments:
Post a Comment