On the Museumplein, Dutch Masters look down
On beech leaves dancing, drifting in brushstrokes.
Early Autumn sun bathers soak up rays
In jeans, scarves and thick jumpers.
Here, next to memories of sunflowers,
Yellow Houses and starry nights,
There is a shadow of the past
Here, with the city reflected in watery veins,
The broad-minded live on narrow plots
There are shadows in time
Of the little girl, her family, the old man
Friends betrayed, decamped
Exterminated, lost and thousands more
Besides, with no Secret Annexe
No story to tell, other than a whisper
Of twisted crosses fluttering above stepped gables
And a sadness, faintly audible, distantly felt
That washes out to sea
Category: Poetry
Rivers
Rivers of grit, in milk suspended
Dashing, splintering, formula racing
Youthful effervescence, rocks upended
Rippling pools, iris eyes facing
Rivers of youth, etching each terrace
Through till, pebble, gravel loaded loam
Wily he flows under bright Polaris
Eyeing beaver, who damns his home
Rivers of deception, languid, calming
A snake at ease yet half-closed, eyeing
A killer ready, snatching, harming
Rasping at the bank, whirling, dying
Rivers of majesty, industrious, mighty
Dredged, cut, but words left unspoke
The setting, scene, curtain rising nightly
On cities, on ships, on chimneys, on smoke
Rivers of blood, for the King’s clotted Shilling
Brothers slashed, cracked and scarred
Evening falls on veins split spilling
Babbling brooks stained by Morning Stars
Rivers of tarmac, inexorably weaving
A hunter’s web, a black passion play
Shimmering, sparkling, lights streaking
Cars spitting acid, biting prey
Rivers of steel, piercing higher
Mirroring back our urban theorem
Eats worker bees with carnal desire
Spewing them out to a pendulum rhythm
Rivers of honour, tick follows tock
Bindings bond, seeds for sewing
A wheatsheaf worshipped by a hanging knot
In our hearth, our hearts over flowing
To the rivers Blythe, Dart, Mersey and Trent, Severn, Eden, Goyt and Dove
For D
Bow wave
I
First the men came.
Marking out, small stakes, painted tops, nestled in the hedgerows
Barely noticed, walked-past, dogs sniffed and peed-on
Then they posted the signs up
Simple things, black on white, line drawings
Quarrying soon, consultation, hot air
II
Then the diggers came.
Scraped the grass off, ripped away the top soil
Murdered the fields, raped the trees
Millennia old, gone, in a piping whistle
Trill, unheard, silent screams
Heard by millions, but not us
III
Then the bulldozers came
Harsh; spewing; yellow; alarming
Their curved shields, pushed by ten thousand horses
A curving arc of land, my land, rising, gone
In a bow wave of sand, and soil, and grit
Dust, fumes, pain, hurt
IV
Deeper they pushed.
At first three feet, then six
The water rose, gritty, dirty, seeping
Then three fathoms, then six
For what?
For gravel, for roads, for the building blocks of progress
V
But to no avail, we will lose, will man
Soon the ice will come again
Not long now, the glaciers
When the Stream turns, the cold will come again
Ice; harsh, gliding, white, crunching, rock-armed
Its curved shield, pushed by a million years
Will cleanse the land again of us
In a bow wave of sand, and soil, and grit, and man
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