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Wednesday, October 06, 2004

The Poet's Corner

Send that amateur poet to his corner!

The Old Venetian Port »
I walk along the Old Venetian Port
Of Kyrenia, Summer is closing its shutters,
The cacophony of tourists is dying down
Against the symphony of golden Autumn,
Multi-coloured lights in a shambolic
Fashion weave in and out of buildings
That line the Old Port,
Decorated like Christmas trees,
Leaving an outline for lazy yachts
Dotting the horizon to follow back in.
I turn to look out to sea.
The wind chops and chips away
At the dark blue, making foam and spray.
Suddenly, I wish I could switch off
All remaining audio of a dying
Tourist season and just watch the
Silent ships at play on a
Very distant horizon.

<< Read about Cyprus | Read the muse for this poem >>

Home »
like light upon darkness,
you awaken in me
like a cascading sunrise awakens the day,
you help me find my way,
forever is too short a time
to learn the mysteries of you,
you are too great a tale
to fit in the pages of a book,
too beautiful for song,
you are a verse too long,
no meter, no rhyme,
poetry without you is a crime,
art too much a slave of mime
to capture you, the light in your eyes
is the warmest light
at the most welcoming window,
life without you is my most feared foe,
loving you is the greatest road I roam,
I look at you, and I am home.
Human Translation »
She fell,
instinctively my hand rose,
as though the distance
being mere nothing
could be shortened
in a gasp,
and I watched her fall,
like an autumn leaf,
down, down, down,
and wondered
where I would be
when she landed.

Anywhere, I decided,
but where it mattered the most.
Naked Rooms »
I entered my heart this morning,
A cold place deserted too long,
No tread of dreams walked here,
No laughter or the sound of joy,
Rooms were naked of uplifting song,
No music echoed nor parties danced
in corridors which I had played
hide and seek with God,
Now dark mirrors hung on the walls,
No sparkle of well worn floorboards,
Only ceilings with backs bent with time.
Fearing that any slight wind would blow
down this bare edifice filled with neglect,
Like a child in reflecting wonderment,
I thought how strange it was that I always
seemed to forget what a sacred place
for sanctuary I had so near by,
In this phone booth with a direct line
to His ear, my greatest temple
had locked out my greatest prayer.

Read more of my poems >>

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© CC License 2004-18. Unless otherwise stated all poetry, prose and art are the original work of the blog owner.