john coldwell Poems

Buongiono, Benvenuto!
At last to Rome you've come,
At last you paths have found it,
This in your heart is home.
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You are not another common man,
A mere name upon a roll,
No, you are a universe,
An eternally expanding soul.
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The arctic blasts turn men into plaster casts,
They take the shape of the wind.
The ragged sails lashed by the gales,
Are full of the the shape of the wind.
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We no longer tip the waiters,
Condescendingly, Pesetas.
And few they are, that need now know,
How to properly pronounce, Escudo.
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My call was important, the voice repeatedly said,
For the twenty or so minutes the phone was stuck to my head,
And I was officiously told,
In tones stern and bold,
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On cold days it’s nice,
To sit in boiled rice,
If your not in a hurry,
To add in the curry.
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It started with a flowerpot,
Moon Dust and an Oriental Star,
But then I saw a Bunker Shot,
Behind the smoke, all smouldering hot,
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The arctic blasts turn men into plaster casts,
They take the shape of the wind.
The ragged sails lashed by the gales,
Are full of the the shape of the wind.
...

All our veterans are hero’s, especially the dead one’s
Paper poppy’d, toy soldiered, military bearing,
I’m there to pretend that I might have been like them.
Remembering the glorious dead that I know nothing of.
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The courts of heaven and their hosts sublime,
Unbound of spatial form and passing time,
With eternal spirit raise symphonic chime,
To the glories of the Almighty One.
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