Roderick Manson

Observations Of A Stromness Cat

I see
a seven-eyed poet
stagger
like the street
to stain his sheets
with ghosts
that history
does not see.

He swims
a narrowing circle
of calm,
drowning
in the empty sounds
of a world
that fills its days
and nights
with noise
more vacant
than the desert wastes
of silence.

He knows
that which threatens
but still denies
that enemy
the power of the name,
knowing
each dark
is a fingerprint
in the human night,
individual
and alone.

He sees,
in a shattered skull
and a flesh-flayed torso
tied
with iron
to the dying-tree,
that simplicity of light
that connects
and cleanses
and heals.

In a seaport
straggled on the ebb-tide’s wane
he and I
echo the fishers
with lazy economy,
each trading
currency
from the essence
of ourselves.

Copyright © Roderick Manson 2014

Roderick Manson climbs mountains and writes poetry, often at the same time.  He lives in Blairgowrie with a cantankerous black cat called Schrodinger.

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About sunnydunny

Poet, publisher, gardener
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