The Memory
Mother, I thought of you this morning
out walking in Fendalton
where all the well-to-do gardens
spill their rich joy along the sidewalk.
And I pictured you inside
your family house, safe by your
father's side, a young child,
all set for Saturday's 'big test'.
And as I sat down by the Avon
I thought I could sense your father's
hands, reaching through the tips
of the willow trees and searching
numbly for a little boy left chasing
his rugby ball in the morning breeze.
Sonnet from the Traditional
(For Allen Ginsberg)
say what's on yr mind:
the sun is out, that's something
the man is thinking of hips
the boy is chasing his dog
the politician is changing party
the girl is bathing in light
the wife is mending her dress
the lover is wiping his tears
the moon is almost full
the land is verdant no more
the poet is writing a sonnet
the pen is no longer a sword
the poem won't change the world
theory is all, everything is suspect
©Mark Pirie
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