SONG OF THE BLIND TRAVELLER

Tap, tap; click, click,
That's the rhythm of my stick.
Inner, outer shoreline,
Step between them mighty fine.
Safe behind the swinging arc,
Feet advancing in the dark -

That's the theory, anyway,
Best foot forward, fence and play.
Trouble is, as all can see,
They very seldom think of me.

left, right, on I go,

Best foot forward, heel and toe.
I hit a lampost fair and square,
What on earth’s it doing there?
It's on the inside of the track.
I wish to God they'd put it back.

Tap, tap, hear my sound,
Clear the way, clear the way, please give ground.
Woman rushing down the street
Gets my cane between her feet.
Down she clatters, bags and all,
And sits there dazed by her great fall.

Broom, broom, the cars dash past,
I wish they wouldn't drive so fast!
From a driveway exits Ford,
Driver pauses, eyes on road,
Fails to check for walking blind,
Thump, I hit his car behind.
Stick pokes underneath his wheel,
I feel it twisting like an eel.
Off he goes and leaves me sick,
My antenna bent like hockey stick.

Heave, ho! twist it straight,
Find the crossing, stand and wait.
Traffic noise like battle's din,
I fight the terror down within.

juggernaut comes roaring, shaking.
The GROUND beneath my feet is quaking.
I hope to God he pulls up right,
And doesn't try to jump the light.

Ah, clear to cross - hang on a minute!
That's not the crossing bleeper, is it?
Hellno, get back! You're quite mistaken,
That's the bleep' a shopdoor's making.

Tap, tap, click, click,
That's the echo of my stick.
As in a mirror you might watch,
Your reflection fast approach,
I hear my dopelganger's tread
Stride towards me up ahead.
And when the echoes disappear,
I'M HOME AT LAST, no more to fear.

TRANSFORMER

Suddenly,
A blackbird - first of spring -
Pipes up his welcome to the rising sun.

For nearly fifty years my eyes have seen no dawn -
Neither the silver shaft of grey,
That Glanced around the blackout blind,
In rain soaked boyhood days;
Nor the 'rosy-fingered dawn',
Blind homer knew-
But this black bird transforms light to sound for me,
a radiant song,
A shimmering spray
Of ivory darts, glittering jewels and dazzling ornaments.

Transfixed i hang upon his vpassionate flight,
Absent so long,
And now restored,
To soujourn in my garden ground.
And in my breast chill winter's grip is loosed,
And dawn lights up the day.

Anfractuosities?

On finding an Unknown word in Remembrance of Times Past

Are these sheer pomposity's

Vain virtuosities -

"I'm classical, don't you see?"

"sinewy", "bending",

"Reflexive", "indenting",

dear Proust, is there ending

the list of "syn" for the "adj."

---

But wait!

Is this but just imagery?

An emblem for history-

This word for describing the coast?

---

For the ways in your past times

Are coiling and looped lines

And, well …

"Anfractuous" - as you say.

November 22, 2001

LET THERE BE FIRE!

Fear not the spark that leaps in you unseen.
As fire begins in forest floor,
Leaping from rotten bough that once was green,
To catch at crumbling trunk, that used to soar:

So ancient forests need renewing fire
To fell the giants, whose dense oppressive shade
Excludes the light that tender shoots require,
When thrusting up from seed their parents made.

So may youth's passion fire and flame. It clears
The vines that choke the fertile ground,
And opens up the canoppy to years
Of warmth and light, when flowers abound.

Promethean fire thus cancelled Zeus's ire,
For light to be, the world's first need was fire.

14 July, 2000.