Jim Coleman Poems

What is it that makes the world go round?
Our planet bears us on its back,
as it flies through the night without a sound.
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What have I achieved?
I've made no waves:
the shore remains unchanged
I've wielded no new brooms:
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You're free one moment, having fun or not,
as the case may be, rehearsing dreams,
playing the lead role in an unfolding plot
written for you by your destiny:
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After living many years abroad
it's good to come back home to grow old
and make friends who were shaped in that same mould
into which you were, decades ago, poured;
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Remember, in that pub, when they would not serve me
because of you? Or when, in Vermont,
however hard you tried, you couldn't
catch the bar girl's eye?
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I remember Angelina,
the music playing on her face -
little frowns and grimaces,
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Wakey wakey! ! Here's your tea."
"I thought it was my turn today."
"No you did it yesterday… or was it me? "
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High up in the Sistine Chapel
God the Father reaches out
to Adam as if to bid farewell
reluctantly. He seems in doubt.
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The soaring nave under which the pilgrims stood in awe -
a structure that contains a millennium,
a column for each century,
a stone block for every year.
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A phantom pain Is pain you feel
in a limb that's no longer there.
Phantom or not, the pain is real.
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