When did you last turn the pages
of a book of poems as if it were a novel?
and how could a Poet Laureate ‘rejoice’-
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There is, it’s said, a state of joyful death,
known to the wise; and this, more realised
than that cessation of our mortal breath
beyond experience; only surmised;
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It’s said that universal single mind,
as in a flash it flowers in our individual mind,
hastens first in two directions: polar opposites,
and then and thus, duality..
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l o n e l y
on the paper, on the screen
all by itself
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This is a disposable poem.
Under each stanza
is a perforated line
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‘The moral rights of the author
have been asserted’… that, I’m told,
is what I should say when I write
anything for publication here; even before
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and because their soul
had found a rest
beyond action
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Delicate, so frail now, almost
apologetic for their presence,
like the longtime bed-bound
taking their first unaccompanied walk,
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The Rajah's court, it's said, sat dumb with grief,
their sorrow that of those who truly love,
on February the eighteenth, and full moon,
three thousand, one-O-two years ere Christ's birth;
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'The British elections are not firing the voters,
since they don't trust politicians any more...'
cor stone the crows!
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