today, i lay flowers for those I do not know

today, i donate money for those I do not know

today, my eyes fill with tears for those I do not know

and i weep, but it is not enough

yesterday, i saw through the eyes of a coward

how to slaughter innocence

it is enough

for me to know

he is not us.

All through dinner
Sara gazed at the guests,
but said nothing.

Her sister, Maggie,
did most of the host's job
of conversation,
and the MP, whose name
she'd forgotten,
some back-bencher
from so and so,
did most of the talk.

Sara ate little;
sipped the wine;
she sat listening
to this and that
and other idle chat.

It was they themselves
she gazed at
in her own fashion;
taking in how they talked,
gestures of hands,
moustaches of the men,
necklaces of the women,
wives and their chitter-chatter,
leaving the men
to their smoke
and conversations,
their wit, their talk
not for the ladies' ears.

Even amongst the women
she said little,
just once saying
how Pascal feared
the wide expanse of space,
leaving the other women,
including her sister,
with raised eyebrows
and blank face.

Spinning round a windy ledge,
i kiss the cross around my neck,
these fever dreams replace the likes of you.

Grinning into space, alone and lost,
the dampened linens lie,
     as i wake up,
     covered in fake love.

In my den the china white,
embraced my blood and laced my night,
an amuse-bouche of courses left to come.

The past three years I can't recall,
coulda been fun, but was it worth it all,
i'm a coma patient lacking an excuse.

Truth,
is hard to come by,
You,
are a stranger in my,
Eyes,
collude disguise.

Arrrh, here we be again
at "Talk like a Pirate day"
we'll spew our gaffs and have some laughs
slappin wenches bums, while we're at play

We'll have some grog
mockin the captain's log
reading lines of sea bound times
and cabin boys, he's flogged

When the eve be ov'r
and drunken we'll awake
it's out to sea, we'll all be
nursing our headache

Our love for wenches stowed
miseries bandon'd in the hold
mainsail's set, we'll not ferget
we be pirates, young and old

I

Our eyes once lingered on the ancient tree
Traced to the founders of this place
Who cleared the land for farms and cemeteries,
But spared the giant elm, older than memory,
And made of it the icon of our public space.

That towering mountain of limbs and foliage!
It could be seen as a beacon in all the valley,    
Majestic in every season! Every knot in the bark,
Every root that bulged through the mossy soil
Was known in its estate in the center of town.  

Here we spent our Maydays with our newborns,
Playing in the shade of the afternoon sun.
Here we held our parades and moonlit fireworks,  
Here we gathered for a death to mourn,  
Here we found first love with lips and tongues-

There is a vengeance that exists as clouds collide!
How we wept, all of us, along with the homeless birds,
How the news was spread like fire in the landscape
That a chainsaw of light had ripped through the trunk
And split it to the core, and all fell asunder to the ground.  

We gathered, hand in hand, all held another tight,
As neighbors came in fellowship and joined the crowd;
We stood amazed at the power of nature’s gods
And the profoundness of what should never die
Lying in pieces under the open sky above.

With the fading thunder and sorrowful birds  
There we surrendered to a moment of true silence;
Surrounding the dismembered monument of ourselves,  
Hand in hand we felt the ancient soul of the tree
Rise with the smell of sap and the smoldering leaves.

                            II

What debate was held, what prizes to win,  
To fill the empty hole in our common domain!
The plans from the architects and artisans
Were posted in the daily papers, argued at the tavern;
Installations of arches with colored lights,
Fantastic sculptures of glass, Roman fountains,
Sphinxes made of iron, kaleidoscopic neon palms,
But none fit the mood of the grieving town.  

But it was a stranger, got off the bus one day,
A drifter who passed through, had a beer at Jimmy’s,  
Barely stayed an hour, and told the bartender-  
“Take the wood that remains, the body of the tree
To conceive the tallest turret ever to be seen,
An obelisk of hope, like a lighthouse on the land.”
He said, then disappeared from our history,
Never to claim his prize or our blessings.  

So it came to pass, we built the tower with its kindling
And it stands like a lightning rod to defy the storms;
A destination for tourists who crave miraculous things,    
Who climb the spiral stairs which fill the hallow core
To the tip of heaven where all the valley can be seen.
It is said to be visited by spirits of the founders,
And every sound made within its scented vaults
Has a reverberating echo heard for miles around.