Saturday, April 22, 2006

Sisyphus (unfinished)

Sisyphus (unfinished)

She grits her teeth
mouth-ful of sharp sand
muscle solid heft against the dead-weight of effort

Resolute
corrugated brow,
traces of bitter sweat
squinting ahead
impossible to see beyond or through the dense grey hugeness
massive concretion of rock
hard to guage distances ahead


Onwards
Upwards
Inch by tortuous inch

Neck, back, body taut and straining, shouldering the boulder
knotted in spasm

She finds brief respite in fantasies of weightlessness
of flight and freedom
- hollow bones, feathery wings, soaring in clear blue sky
- swift silvery fish gliding cool in silky water

Could she simply step aside, leave the boulder crashing down alone?

Would she be crushed in its path, left damaged incomplete?

Should they ever reach the top, then what? how would it be?

Views from a summit, at rest.
slack, relaxed, gazing at distant horizons?
a stable place to lean her back?
safe refuge?

Some build on rocks
Some are crushed by them.

Saturday, April 01, 2006

Nesting

























I see them everywhere

cradling in the still bare wintry branches of the trees
complicating the stark simple lines and angles

Precarious, bleak, risky lattices of twig

nestling exposed
balancing reckless so high above the ground

tenuous fragility of interlacing branches
skeletal leaves
breathtaking even at such a distance

foolhardy

dangerous

brave

necessary


They raise a chord of identification in me
a pang of painful recognition

unfeasible, extraordinary they have survived the winds and blasts of winter

They must be sturdier than they look

tenacious

Will the shoots, leaves, growth, verdure of spring and summer shield and protect them?

Hide from prying eyes like mine
buffer from wind and weather

secure, fix and fasten

grow into a green cocoon-womb of warmth and safety
private, intimate, shared refuge

flesh and blood on bare rib and bone

home

life enclosing nurturing life?


One can only hope





























ADDENDUM
Some of these trees have just been brutally pollarded.
Defoliated.
Mutilated knucklebones gesturing obscenely into the sky.
Empty. Bereft.