Monday, September 22, 2014

David Subacchi- Three Poems


Never point a gun at anyone
Said my grandfather
As I played in the sun
Taking my cowboy’s hand
To make me understand
Lowering my aim
With the tip of his thumb
Never point a gun at anyone

Never point a gun at anyone
Even if it’s not
A real one
Although it may be a toy
And you are just a boy
This is not something
That should be done
Never point a gun at anyone

Never point a gun at anyone
Loaded or unloaded
Or just in fun
Unless you’re on the battlefield
And the enemy will not yield
Or your life is in danger
And you can’t run
Never point a gun at anyone.


Another Titanic poem
what more is there to say?
a century of story telling
myth piling upon myth
avoiding the truth of
our foolish arrogance
sentimental legends
highlighted by Hollywood
drama failing to hide
the unexciting reality

Deep below the waves
an iron coffin lies
one more encrusted
reminder of human fragility.


Sandstone wind worn
Rinsed by rainfall
Stone of church
Oxford College
Victorian railway station
Hues of brown
Holding moisture
Surfaces rough
Sometimes smooth
Crumbling, stained
Scarred by holes
From long removed
Bolts and hinges
Sandstone arches
Slate topped roofs
Lead gutters
Down pipes
Gravelled yards
Uncut lawns

Sandstone a litany
Of history
Most photographed
Each block
Each corner
Each pillar
Each wall
Has seen
It all.

David Subacchi lives in Wales UK) where he was born of Italian roots. He writes in both English and Welsh and performs his work regularly.

Cestrian Press has published two collections of his poems. ‘First Cut’ (2012) and ‘Hiding in Shadows’ (2014).  You can find more examples of his work simply by searching on line for DAVID SUBACCHI.

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