The Shine Journal

 

 

At The Librairie Anglaise-Café

 

Sitting at an old round table

so small there’s no room among

its elaborate wrought-iron feet

for two pairs of legs and sipping

philosophers’ tea

Poppy and lotus with jasmine

blended to perfection

poured carefully from a delicate

Japanese pot into flower-painted

china cups and piping hot

I read Gary Snyder

hear the sound of hooves

riprap on distant cobblestones

Watch the steep track disappear

into cold mountain mist

shiver and think of Kerouac

enjoying the Diamond Sutra

sun warm on his back

Cool air from the fan

sweeps the room gently

it’s a Zen moment

A cat sleeps stretched out

in the narrow doorway

sensing safety beneath the notice

politely but firmly

forbidding dogs

At the next table

thoughtfully considering Le Monde

a sharp-eyed woman sips her petit noir

and smokes

ash drops from her cigarette

 

Passing Through

In the morning early we walked down

the mountainside from the old village.

The narrow donkey track, winding serpentine

and stony across the slope of the land,

kept the glitter of the sea below dark cliffs

always in our eyes. We breathed in thyme

and the scent of fresh-cut grass where men

with scythes, who nodded quiet greetings

as we passed, had cleared the path while

we were still asleep and were resting then

in the dusty shade of ancient olive trees.

The spirit of the place hung in the air

like bee-filled midday heat and welcomed us,

two visiting strangers from another world.

 

Long Gone

 

The diamond dust of evening

cool blessing

settles over this city of angels

The river’s in flood,

water hyacinth tangles

the anchor chains of empty barges

Temples fade gently

untroubled by transience

stones still warm from the sun’s last touch

Caught in the still moment

I sip fragrant tea

watch lighted riverboats move by

Chopping currents veer and ebb

erase their wakes

leave only the glowing memory of lamps

No other trace

No one’s seen you in the usual places

friends shake their heads and look askance

say they’ve been so busy these last days

Like the warmth in their eyes you’ve disappeared

left no clue for me to follow

no silent footstep in the sand to guide me to you

 

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Motivation: These poems are meditations on the transitoriness of valuable moments in time and experience. My intention was to concentrate these qualities as deeply as possible within the poems.

Bio: Since being published here in 2008, I have had an e.chapbook published at Snakeskin and a full-length collection entitled "Listening For Light" (available from www.poetrymonthly.com) placed seventh in this year's UK small poetry press top twenty Best Individual Collections.