stones from the beach, by J.B. Pick

 

 

 

Omen

 

A bird's path crosses mine.

X marks the spot.

I call this cross a sign.

The bird does not.

 

 

Shapes

 

Through these wild shapes

Does Shape shine forth:

An inner compass signs

The absolute North

 

 

Hidden nowhere

 

Dead water from a tap.

Live water from a spring.

Dead country on a map -

Sleep walking.

Unusual boulder speaks.

Hawk in polluted air.

Something the eye seeks,

Hidden nowhere.

 

 

The rule of law

 

Why should I fail the gods to satisfy

The expectation of the man next door?

Put off the impossible because

The Thing Committee's meeting on the tenth?

The gods of course know well I cannot do

Whatever they agree I must.

Such dull considerations aren't their business -

Nothing happens by the rule of law.

 

 

Accident

 

By accident the truth shines out -

And accident becomes design.

 

 

 

Clues

 

Whose voice is asking questions,

and whose eyes will hunt

For clues that no one scattered on the ground?

A definition proves the presence of a lack -

To know our lostness may mean we are found.

 

 

Boundaries

 

Life has no boundaries

Weather moves with us

Whether or not we move.

 

 

 

"Whaur's your Johnnie Walker noo"?

(A barman, seen from the top of a bus, pouring a nameless whisky into a row of variously branded bottles)

He pours with bored and sober hand

From nameless bottles into brand.

So God's dark fountain brightness pours

Into this dream of mine and yours.

 

 

Robin's song

 

An argument of telephones

By robin's intimate distance valued -

Sudden window of a lost mansion

Startled into light.

 

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