To walk through acorns
On Autumn lawns
While barefoot
Would give me pleasure
In this gentle weather.
But they might shut me up
Where the air
Is replete with bleach
And fluorescent lights
Burn day and night.
I would long for birdsong
And lawns
Littered with acorns.
I should walk barefoot.
I would attract strange looks.
But there would be no hospital ward.
To confine me.
Just the reward
Of autumn grass
Under my feet.
I should go
Before old time defeats
All I am
And see
He bought
Her smile
And thought
For a while
He had caught
Her heart.
But, at break of day
She slipped away
Leaving her imprint
In ink
I have sat on bar stools
As fools
Pontificate in love and hate.
From on high, I
Have judged women and men
Thinking myself superior to them
Yet in the quiet
Of morning time
I rhyme
Of imperfect man
And I who am
As them.
Let us deconstruct all things
In this Postmodernist day.
All our elusions must fall
Away
And everything be analysed
Until our eyes
Can no longer see
Beyond this reductionist
Ideology
We role played.
Afterwards you stayed
And spoke of your childhood
Which, on the whole, was good.
Then you told me
Of a family friend’s knee …
But now you are at university
And all that was long ago,
And besides, you do not know
Whether it was really so.
And of course you are free
To say “no”
To me
It happened years ago
And I have no responsibility
For what he may
Or may not have done.
Its just fun
To engage in role play.
No harm is done
Or so we say
A man in a sweet shop chooses
From a menu online.
The sweets are divine
The website says
So no-one loses.
The candy arrives
In pretty bows
And wrapping
Fragile as flowers.
He knows
How it goes:
The tapping of heels
Bring deals
Of sugar sweet
He can’t keep,
While the website
Offers fleeting delights
Of fresh flowers
He takes,
But his thirst
Remains unslaked
I sit here
Drinking beer
Alone at home
In this dying heatwave
Unable to forget
What I could not save.
As I drink
I think
Of girls who padded like cats
Around my bachelor’s flat
In their bare feet.
We drank wine
And, sometimes
I would find
A kind
Of comfort in a stranger’s arms.
A few left charms behind.
A hairband
I kept in a drawer,
Though I saw her no more.
I returned hair extensions.
There was no pretention
Of love.
Drinking my beer
I look back on half wasted years.
There where tears and laughter
But what comes after …
Perhaps I can find
A sort of tenderness
Tinged with regret.
I can not forget
And sometimes wonder
What they remember
Of me
The thunder came
In the early morning.
I heard the heavy rain
And saw the lightning
Flash across the summer sky.
Alone at home
I thought of the old gods
Who will remain
When man can no longer see
The lightning
Nor hear Thor
Laugh
For he knows
Civilisations rise and fall
And men are fragile
As glass
In shop windows
Lighted at night
To display
What we know
Must pass away.
On Thursday 18 June I was delighted to host a segment on the World Poetry Cafe, which is a show on Vancouver Co-op Radio. To listen to the World Poetry Cafe please go to https://www.mixcloud.com/VictorSchwartzman/world-poetry-cafe-june-18-with-kevin-morris/. My segment starts approximately 20 minutes into the show.
Mid June.
Sunshine.
The longest day of the year
Draws near.
Everything must decline.
My rhyme
Will find its end.
Another year
Will bring spring flowers.
I will think on hours
And the brevity
Of rhyme.
