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39 · May 2020
The Kind Oak
Tom Salter May 2020
He’s seen boys march to war
And hobble back as men
His roots now grow red
In their memory
He’s faced the brittle saw
Of human greed
And once bore
The weight of an empire
Only to watch it fall
As he does
To the selfish axe
His branches
used to
Hang strangers for
Crimes he never
Even witnessed
His leaves whisper
Secrets through the wind
Whistling the tunes
Of forbidden lovers
And mans’ betrayals
His bark fills the playgrounds
Of our children, whilst his own
Are crushed, by the
Unforgiving pressure of mankind
And after all this,
All this pain for no reward
He welcomes
All to call him home.
39 · Jul 2020
Runaway Breath.
Tom Salter Jul 2020
The privilege of knowing we
Has fled,
Runaway
To some harsher place,
Fallen -
Gone to bed.
And
Longing now is
Thy breathe, locked,
Waiting
Behind some other
Face, clawing at
Their throat and
Hunting for
A grip so
That
It may escape
And let it
Be said
I
Was too late,
Fallen -
Gone to bed.
38 · Jul 2020
The Lucky One.
Tom Salter Jul 2020
The rain stopped at the window, staining the glass
With a pattern of chaos and dance.
Time decides to pass,
And my eyes decide to mask
My tried and tired mind.
This room that we occupy, the first room on the left
As we come rushing through the street entrance, this room
Holds a preliminary summer haze
Where each day starts hot and heavy but ends
In summer’s hug, a warm comfort of clasping and love.
I was the lucky one.
The one to strum life’s great strings,
I will master this instrument, the moments it brings
And the joy it sings.
Yes, perhaps tomorrow.

Mornings offer distraction
Where i’d often witness perfection,
Laying there unannounced and present
Like the moon painted in the river’s reflection.
I still can’t believe I was ever allowed to hold it -  
The birds, they already knew this
As they would often sing, reminding me
I was the lucky one.
I was the loved one.

The window was left ajar and the rain slipped in
Like a snake slithering or a coin finding
Its way into an impossible space.
This rain ends the summery haze
And brings nothing but wintery days.
Water builds up in this room, drenching the comfort
And drowning out the bird’s song,
A faint sound bubbles in the drowned room;
“You! Bed thief, smile maker
And tea taker! Why do you laugh
At luck? Why do you laugh at all?
You were the lucky one, and now
You are all but undone.”

Grief and gloom have filled my lungs,
Leaving me few words to answer
The birds’ water-logged song;
“All hail existence,
Uncover your ears and listen!
Come and learn to be resistant
To life’s twisting condition,
Sign a petition! Or take down
The ruling system! Its all
A part of existing, this vicious
Persistent brilliance so say yes
To existing! All hail existence.”
34 · May 2020
untitled3
Tom Salter May 2020
a man, so precious
and violent
caught in between, the
fragile and beautiful,
coerced to sit, waiting,
wings clipped
like the crow, cooped
in a branchless tree,
vulnerable and
dazed, he hopes for
the world to coo,
again.

— The End —