Thursday, 30 July 2009

Spring Came...

Spring came. With clothes of winter still
wrapped round me, I walk to the bus.
Growing craftier everyday
To a world on its hinges.
The noise and wind work at the nerve,
I only have to look at my jacket
And I became melancholy.
I only have to speak of shoes and
I weep. The misunderstood nature
of conflict swallows the world's truth
With a dogs decorum for concern.
Working everyday wears away the
Immunity like a pair of
Shoes. You can repair the laces,
The heels but when your soul gives out-
It's over.

Tom Harding

Monday, 13 July 2009

The Voice of Despair

Triangles of half-open doors
Reveal all the truth that is hidden:
Just condoms and cans on the floor,
Black papers with verses, forbidden -
Unfinished remakes of the song,
Deprived of the right to speak loud
Of wicked intentions gone wrong -
Erasers have muffled the shout.

The only illusion-proof mind -
A poet, the voice of despair,
Sincere, the one of this kind
Throws verses far into the air
Right there, in a dirty old flat
Among once great talents, now rotten.
They all have deserved more than that,
But even their names are forgotten.

April A.
St. Petersburg, Russia