C Richard Miles Poems

Sum off-comed-’uns ’ev mithered mi
An’ nagued mi wi’t’ barmy wee-a ah speyk
So ah’ve putten this dahn ter defen’ missen
An hoo-ap mi ca-ase is strang, nert wee-ak.
...

And if the mirror cracks, why worry?
It’s only the reflection that is marred;
Originals remain intact and crystal clear.
...

And though they suck the oxygen of my enthusiasm
To feed the flames of all-consuming apathy,
I will not bow;
I will not break.
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Although my kid brother’s quite a bit of a hunk,
He’s just like his mother, as a hoarder of junk.
He had so much clutter in his pad, dark with gloom,
It looked like the gutter had invaded his room:
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First make your marks in arcane, ancient cuneiform
To mould mere indents upon soft, supple, passive clay,
Impress with fine, firm fingers, opening the account,
Initiating interaction, starting soft,
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You tripped and tumbled down that slippery slope
Which lay in wait, agape before your feet.
Did you not see that slyly hidden hole,
That trick, that cunning catch which I had set?
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The bare, black lime looms large,
Tall by the well-trod granite paving stones,
Its silhouetted shape,
A ghost etched on November’s neutral tones,
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Pulse after pulse drums its beat in the city
Throbbing like heartache deep down in its veins;
Globs of humanity cram into carriages
Until they emanate grey from the trains.
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First-born of Mary, though of lowly birth,
Not just a baby: God in man on earth,
Starting Your story, suffering and cold,
First-born of Mary, only minutes old.
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Deep, deep down in the dull, dark dungeon,
Doomed, the duke’s dainty daughter dwells,
Fastened firm by fearsome fetters;
Cell safe-secured by secret spells.
...