photo: @John Stadnicki
People travel towards the water.
Believers and non-believers, abandoned,
wet books with pages turning themselves,
in the hot breeze.
In times of peace, the bread chooses wisely.
It chooses us.
To hear the summer from miles away – a sudden blast.
Toxic petals float in the air and
drop vertical shades of colour
on busy roads, on silenced barracks.
We all are the collective eyewitness,
the sleep-deprived well;
knowing litter pickers, mending
the gaps in this violent history.
A poem for ‘Europa‘ by Andrew Heath https://www.amazon.co.uk/Europa-Andrew-Heath/dp/B01LYHL716
For further information on Andrew Heath’s music, please click here: https://andrewheath.bandcamp.com/
I always arrive late for everything.
Stuck in a traffic jam by the docks,
missed Noah’s boat but
survived under water
accidentally trapped between stolen books,
trapped by a word heavier than a stone,
lighter than a feather.
Hidden in the overcrowded wooden train carriage,
radicalised by the anonymity of my blue name-tag,
with a heart growing outside my body.
Each beat painfully visible to the guards
around the Monopoly table.
On the waiting list for ballet lessons,
radicalised by the price of uranium bullets on Mother’s Day
handwriting an apologetic note.
My deep eye silenced.
The familiar solemnity of a world without a face.
Photograph: @John Stadnicki, Bristol MMXVI