Hallowing

Poems 2002-2006.  Illustrations by Rachel Errington.

John Lennon, on the Underground  - jh

I had fallen from a great height,

jumped, to be specific, down a shaft;

steam vented, walled with brick, surprised

when the floor met my feet, gently,

and a door opened out

to the carraige.

Though black and white

the fittings still stood out;

brass railings and wooden slatted benches

and faces of men who spoke

about wood, in Anglo Saxon

and flat capped commuters

who had lost all memory

of destinations or arrival

and John among them, knowing

with the smile of his eye

that he would sit with this cargo

and hope for the end of the line

while I stumbled through,

looking for ladders

and new light.

Coming Home on Good Friday, 2003  - jh

Town has been full of oracular beggars

and people on the Level have been humming

new tunes of apocalypse, under their breath.

There's no man alive

who does not know

he is alive

while bombs drop.

A girl on the train gives me a rose

and everyone grabs at what sweetness they can;

holds the flower close

like looks alone

can save the world from this.

A mob gets off the last train;

Holy Holy Friday night,

howls down the quiet streets of midnight,

loots the silence; peace caves in

like masonry. They have let the animals loose.

A doctor glides down the street

with a silent green siren,

slips past like a messenger,

seems to point the way;

one more mission

to keep the world from falling

and every soul that seeks to help

is on this single trip.

I jump the cob wall to St Nicolas'

graveyard. Find a purple peace

and listen to the spirits dance,

unearth a grand communion with the dead.

Even they are lively now.

Even they expect deliverance.

Across the bridge three cyclists

illuminate the hallowed road,

searchlights on their handlebars

like they sought some lost evangelist

or long gone pilgrim, absent without leave.

Tonight I know

I'm not the only soul

finding my way back.

They are walking in the desert

and rallying to ragged standards,

following the crow road home,

looking for the watcher at the bridge

and left on lights, imploring

from safe havens.

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56 pages, 23 poems, with illustrations.

Copyright all Text and Images J.A. Hindle 2008