What use to me is an Ism?

What use to me is an Ism?

When face to face with a Chasm

Your hand, dear friend is a Prism

The angry just cause, a Spasm

 

(Homage to Stevie Smith

 

Not Waving But Drowning

“Nobody heard him the dead man,

But still he lay moaning:

I was much further out than you thought

And not waving but drowning.

 

Poor chap, he always loved larking

And now he’s dead

It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,

They said.

 

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always

(Still the dead one lay moaning)

I was much too far out all my life

And not waving but drowning”

 

 

 

 

Rupert’s Rubaiyat

And then, when all is said and done

The tulips wilting on the table

Incandescent, a setting sun

Dissolving  edges,

a sugar cube melting into memory of sweetness

 

 

And falling, fading, failing, I was found,

Finding that we founder all

and drowning, wave like starfish in the tidal race

formless ganglia where giant currents

Snap, and pulse – crackle-pop – an electric storm

Crescendo, sforzando love crashing

Through us to break upon this world’s shore

To limn the beach and leave our canvass pristine on which

The finger moves, and having writ moves on

Leaving

This heart all evil shed away

A pulse in the eternal mind. No less.