poetry

Narrative No 7- Joan of Arc

Why did she not cry?
Because her love was stronger than death

Did the fire hurt
It was agony, excrutiating, an anti marriage

Was she a saint?
Truly the fire of the holy ghosts grace was centred in she

She drove the English infidels back to there poxy island

Was she ill?
No she was consumed by love

Did she fashion wings from snow petals at the last?
She flew through the land with impossible wings

Is she married?
She is married at last

She lived in a village called Domremy in the east of France. Watched the swallows curve the geese arrive in Winter. Through the hay high onto the barn stack. The archangel Michael Saint Catherine Saint Margaret appeared to her. Told her to come to the aid of Charles 7 in the hundred year war.

The bells of all the cathedrals of France peel in one thousand minds at the same time
Stagnant ponds burgeon with silver fish. In her name. two white doves above the funeral pyre. The words liberty equality fraternity mingle with the spring air

Why did she not cry?
She did not cry for us
 

No 81 Bus

The bus slows at your outstretched hand
You leave the kitchen
Backwards in reverse gear through the door
Into the lounge
Six other people board
They are strange. Like faces in a 12 year old’s
Recurring nightmare

You want to get off
But your already at home
In the bedroom nothing much happens
You ask the driver can you switch off the TV and straighten the duvet
He says no, and starts fiddling with the money respectable

Two of the customers
Jump for it in the hall
The driver is inconsequent

The bus speeds up
On a circle bedroom hall bathroom lounge kitchen
You try to grab a winks sleep, but can’t
You say nice weather to the old lady in front, she frowns
You demand to see the conductor

A door to door salesman accuses you of not having a ticket
He says look, you look into a mat black mirror like a late Rothko painting

 

Crete Lullaby

The island was age old, the sea harp notes
winding around mountain roads, secret sand coves,
island of caves and dreams, exquisite flower petals.
I came from a Babel to settle a dreams score.
The song within me, the sea harp, the ancient ship

took a song to Piraeus, the teeming mainland –
a nought among millions of strangers selling love.

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