Three Poems for London


in the gathering grief


with flames

your bones wear into stones


with eyelids wet

you weep in scents of formaldehyde


in the gathering grief

you were the cradle rocked by death

we were your bones we are the stones


in the present


it's a day for mourning

we turn in as in a procession


as in a sea of mourners

we gather waves of our tears


in tongued silences of grief

we curse silently 


over candled noon

memories incandescent


it's a day for mourning

a lone piper's piping the last post


in the future  


there will be flamethrowers

they will singe your flesh

they wear your bones into stones

they will trail your mirth-

a kind of fireman you are

you shall douse  the flames with your heart.


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Sentinel Poetry #34

ONLINE MAGAZINE MONTHLY ...since December 2002

September 2005  ISSN 1479-425X

Editor: Amatoritsero Ede