Tuesday, January 27, 2015

FOR NAZIM HIKMET       [Stefanie Bennett]
No. I won’t talk to the angel. Not yet.
I’m responsible
For lifting the blindfold,
For the sun’s cauterised dart,
For the fountain pen’s fury.
He kicked the steeple’s projection
And sat
In the void he’d discerned
Via a rainbow’s coccyx.
Unperturbed, Orion’s belt buckle
Fell, chuckling,
... And cleansed
The sod
From his feet.
THE LAST DAY    [Stefanie Bennett]
.... After I have conquered some
Of the world’s ills in my fashion.
After I have climber what’s left
Of the parasitical plot and attempted
                               To bring it down.
After the unwanted-wanted posters
Have yellowed and curled so
That my name’s been struck off
The records, the too-public records
And... I’ve greyed a little,
And shrunk a lot,
And my hands have lost
                            Their bitter cures,
Will you, once again, take me in –;
Take me in and not mind
This new stranger
As your lover of old?
Once I’ve been pensioned out – yes!
I’m aware that it will happen.
Once it’s known that what seemed
Scholarly and spectacular was no more
                               Than someone held
Hostage by an everyday innocence.
Once I design... the final line
And I’ve nothing left
To do, say, or display -
Will you find it in you to
Forgive the neglect
I shelved for you alone?
Will you
                ... Forget that
I served but one light – ,
And that it was your light?
Will you mind, mind my return
- And keep this
Gypsy poet company?
RESTITUTIONS     [Stefanie Bennett]
The town-hall clock
Has dropped
Its hands –, it has
A habit
Of doing that.
Always –, but
... Defeatists.