Poem Hunter
BD ( / Northern ireland)


we are all a mixture of past and present
ulysses declares through tennyson
i am a part of all that I have met but
he and his crew were lost souls wandering

the med worrying we'll be ghosts
that come to trouble joy turning up
unexpectedly being thought dead
unwidowing widows and perhaps causing

difficulties with property-rights
but I with one bag and hardly
a backward glance at my life or
so it might seem to the casual observer

perhaps foolishly believed you would
throw some scraps into the dogs dish
downsize the importance of for example
oh who needs examples they live hot

in your memory perhaps in your flesh
who knows and in the last analysis
why should anyone care do you
if you do youve never shown it

above the barrage we sat on a big rock
watched the light change on sainte-victoire
and then i drove you home we'd picknicked
in the sun and watched the sky

your soul had soared in till i brought the dark
so here we are but not now as before
in sunglasses across the saxo's roof smiling
awkwardly hope clinging

like the fragrance of lavande in the dark
we lie alone you in your bed and i once more
stretched on a sofa in someone else's home
can hear the rustle as the last leaves fall

imagine the mistral blowing them away
remembering those eyes of yours
mirrors in which I saw my own
vulnerability lie there delicate as

webs spun in frosty northern dawns
at callelongue the day was warm
son ancien sémaphore enthroned
on stark rocks, below the choices

accès par le pas de la demi-lune
permet de passer coté est de la falaise,
donc abrité du mistral et en plein soleil
coté saint michel deux jolies voies

de niveau facile sont à conseiller
l'arête victor martin l'arête de la cordée
mais I was miffed discovering a climb
was in the offing unreasonable certainement

and trainers would suffice of course
quel relief and later loved it finding
i was fitter than i thought
fitter certainly than on the climb

to the lighthouse on belle isle en mer last year
where i had also sulked alone as high
as i could go gazed emptily at a different sea
waves smashed in chilling fury

on northern rocks; there is
confusion worse than death,
trouble on trouble, pain on pain,
long labour unto aged breath,

the voice that hammers yet again
life's such a bitch

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