Excerpts from "early rising"
by J.B. Pick
Intent and with a lively gait
He runs and cannot bear to wait;
The fiend he flees rides on his back
Yet freedom's on the running track.
Through every hazard we have fought our way
And now in glory it is medal day.
We must not let the fearful knowledge show:
This is the place we swore we would not go.
The road lies where it is.
Journeys are its food.
Our rushing energies
Enrich its snake-blood.
Father and Mother
A thin wind in a deaf ear:
"Faint music, Father."
"Deny such sorrow; music has a form."
Mother speaks in shadows,
Stories without words.
Time is a wave of thought,
Moving stone ships, stone music.
Flesh is stronger, being soft,
Renewing failure with such gentle fire.
Entities of evening gently burn,
Chameleon ghosts on colours with no name;
One cloud to absolute nowhere lays faint claim;
Bats like worries flicker and return.
Although the promised messages won't come,
Ambiguous stillness seems to say "Begin!"
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