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Ghazal: Know Silence

In between tolls of the bell the air knows silence.
In a prison cell a wooden chair knows silence.

After a storm in the heart of a forest
the footprints of a snowshoe hare know silence.

Leaning into the stream Narcissus transfixed
by the beauty of his stare, knows silence.

Ravaged by waves on an ocean those left
watching the dying of a flare, know silence.

As the house sleeps, the poet, like a marble
in a game of solitaire, knows silence.

 

Ghazal: These Bones

Strung together like flutes of light, these bones.
Fractured by history, tarnished white, these bones.

Conceived from silence they grow and grow
into secrets hidden, out of sight, these bones.

To canter, to hop, to dance the polka,
to catch a heart and hold on tight, these bones.

Dressed to kill in skin or fleece or fur, to chase
mad dogs, they long to fight, these bones.

The end will find them crushed along a lonely shore,
where I’ll whisper goodnight to these bones.

 

Meeting the Leopard

The gaze will be the same
of that I’m sure

though I noticed on the phone
his voice had mellowed

I wonder if he’s still plagued
by the craze in his bones

he once leapt into the road
from our top floor window

I’ll bring our young woman
the day he left she began to crawl

thirty years of silence
I imagined him dead or caged

maybe she’ll know him by the pull
and push of blood

I’ll know him
I’ve swallowed his rage.

 

Our House

Don’t think it was all ‘Shut it!’
in our house,

go back to the time when the dog
was sick

and they nursed him all night
with sips of brandy,

to when snow filled the yard
and I was sent out

with mash and bran for Ragtail
the rabbit,

to the sprigs of chickweed she picked
for our budgie

and the seed and lard ball tied to the tree
with string.

Don’t think when they died
no-one cared,

the grief couldn’t get past the gate
that’s all.

 

 

 

New poems

by Maggie Sawkins