Brian Wake Poems
|2.||I Never Did Think||6/12/2013|
|5.||Leading The Blind||6/12/2013|
|11.||Clutching At Straw||6/12/2013|
|13.||Lazarus Meets The Press||6/12/2013|
|15.||Signs Of Spring||6/12/2013|
At thirteen forty five our train begins to move, and, late
to board, what seats remain face not toward but from.
I shuffle off and fold my overcoat and sit, do battle
with a newspaper to find a decent page and settle down
Behind me, music hisses from a faulty earphone. A child
describes the passing fields; a city child surprised by space
and countryside, surprised by, look mum, cows and sheep.
Across the aisle a blue-haired lady with an open book
is fast asleep.
From where I sit, my awkward view is of the places
we have travelled ...
Leading The Blind
Blind himself, so Samson’s dog made absolutely no concession
to the dark, but would cross, and bark, the river on a bridge of crocodiles
with neither he nor they aware that either he or they were there.
Without him I’d be lost, said Samson to a passing slave, without him
there would be no morning walks along the mountain paths, no respite
from my infinite regret, or time to contemplate how those I loved continue
now to live out their existences in harmony with everything but me.