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David Tollick Mar 2011
Blind Spot
How lovely to see you again
You are just the excuse
I've been looking for

To leave the road
Crash through the fence
And come to rest
Off track, way off track

Blind spot, sun spot,
Hot spot, turn-me-on spot
Dazzle me, blind me
You seem pleased to find me too

You are just the excuse
How lovely to see you
You are just an excuse
Blind spot, my soft spot
David Tollick Mar 2011
Is it just me
Or is it just four bottles of beer
Or is it just the picky, pock, patchy
Thawed and re-frozen
Left-over snow

Or the starry sky
A hint of Northern Lights
With the beautiful s-bend of the river
Willow and alder as skeletons
Scribbled against the winter meadow

With river-washed flotsam
Caught along the fence-line
The big trout in midstream under the bridge
In daylight behind her rock
And why not still so now?

Or is it just peculiar -
That while to every horizon the stars fall to Earth
As secrets on countless tongues -
That the word on my lips
Is your name
David Tollick Mar 2011
careless that she is a soldier's daughter
this afternoon she is a dancer
Looby-Loo skipsy across the cool tiles
while outside the sun crushes the town

hardly enough of her
to fill her pinafore
feather, skelf, sunbeam in perfect time
to the tune in her head

she holds her audience's gaze
four chairs, a broom and the cat
she notices a moth caught in a web
the window squeaks in the heat

1000s of miles away
sand catches at his boots
his mind waltzes back
across his last patrol

trusting the instincts
which have carried him safely
through each patrol so far
dancing with his death

like some deadly tango
after the first few steps
there is no going back
just like having children

there is no going back
David Tollick Feb 2011
I dare say it's good
to talk at times and
there is a lot of the day
that always was a blur
even before you started drinking

along this quiet island's quiet roads
telegraph poles buzz
with 8 megabytes-per-second
bringing the world
to your door these days, they say

You won't answer back
this is just the way it goes
there's the postie
and the nurse now too
and from the mobile library, there's Tennyson

You are at sea still, with his Ulysses
sailing these coasts awhile yet
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield

most days now, someone gives you a hand
David Tollick Feb 2011
Must you go to the New World
forbidden fruit, thrilling
nerve-racking, dreaded exam

Looming where the sun goes
a spell you need to break
trailer-trash meets the Long Carabine

Making love to Laura Inglis Wilder
Shock and Awe meets John Muir
Martin Luther and Chicken George

All clapper board and Hopper-esque
while James Taylor sings Mockingbird
with Carly Simon

Your fingers trace that coastline
those place-names where perhaps
you will stand and wonder

At what people can do
because it is all there
in the New World

A new world to replace
the one you already have
should you ever finish with it
but i don't even have a passport
David Tollick Feb 2011
"Consider it” the courtier said to the king
"The Gods would never let the Reaper count among the battle-dead
The young and strong whom love has newly bound
As blissful newly wed”

And so it seemed!
When searching the war-torn land
No grave was found to mark the stain
Of newly wed, newly slain

Thus must they have triumphed with lovers' might
Two hearts in every lover's breast
What foe could stand the steel that love drove
To cleave helm, rend armour, sunder bone

“What mighty, fell warriors these must be
In the springtime of their love”
So spread the Courtier's revelation
The grim weaponry of devotion unmasked

The King, foes at hand and hard pressed
Now quickly formed his shock battalion of lovers
Whose brides, close as a skin to the battle, would suffer
To see Hell break loose between vows and wedding bed

Wedding parties among armourers and farriers
A wedding draught for courage
Gold bands not yet blood-warmed
On hands raised in “Adieu!”

Only through battle the taste of heaven on earth to be had
The love-zealots drove wild through the enemy to find
Among  baggage train and camp kitchens
A familiar, foreign rear-guard, devoted and adoring

Who overjoyed to meet victorious warriors
And at such short notice could not countenance the worst
And, as angels, would have felled these men
With easy smiles and tender greetings

Whence came the counter-revelation
Of us-and-them and just-the-same
And wheeling, reeling heads and hearts
Turned back to battle and were condemned to mortality

The noble and sanctified were thus slain
Justice was served to kings, courtiers, lovers and mere others
And by brutal blow and fickle chance the victors wrote history
And made justice, made their heaven on earth.
David Tollick Feb 2011
Brewing your bitter sap
From the sour, dank sod
In which your feet
Are so comfortably shod
Silk purse made from the bile
Of good-for-nothing land

Your are on the river
In the bog early green
A smile on Spring's young face
Russet tines raking winter's putty
Bearded bonsai of icy summits
Run-maker on summer greens

Webster-woven into creels
For peats, and baskets
For logs of firewood types
Promise me a sprig of ***** Willow
Almost a tree
A match for any tree
"Run-maker" - willow is the wood of choice for making cricket bats
"Webster" - a Scots word for weaver

*****-willows are out now - Spring is coming to the northern hemisphere!
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