Remembrance

I'll live with poets not with God,
For they have lived and felt in
ways he never could.
All his creation and what of that?
All sides knew him and all
sides fed on beliefs of his salvation:
And what then?

The clamouring of haste at the bugle call?
Is this His stupid beckoning?
Or is it - as he says - with much
gesturing form the pulpit -
Our human failing to understand the
book, the word, the bits of insincerity?

I have stood by graves of children;
Noted the words of grief;
seen the white slabs on slabs,
Row on row.
Have knelt in wonder
at Poelkappelle
And seen those torn from life and being
Without even a name to take them.

How can I sit in cool chapels
lit through glass bearing sacrifice
and see it all as one?

I'll live with poets for they have lived and know.

Forever

I am yours alone forever:
My eyes and hands, heart and
other parts.
I am hunted by your smile,
I hide in deep woods and mists.
You pull your bow and I'm shot!
You see me now as I strain to
keep patience as they skitter
and fritter away at time.
You watch as I sometimes watch you
through the glass,
seeing what you do not know.
You all bodily innocence of my gaze
My wandering imagination.
Nothing is ever the same: new suns
New growth, new shoots.
Do you know me like I know me?
Is it for all time this lovers' bliss?
tell me how it will be;
For forever is all the past.