The Pequod : Writing and Photography
 •  Welcome •  Blog •  Photoblog •  Essays •  Creative Writing •  Contact Author •  About This Site •  Sitemap • 
New Blog Post

New Photoblog Post

Featured Writing
Site Tools
Save this Print this RSS Feed
by FreeFind

Comment On This Page
Name:
URL:  

Spam protection; please enter the letters smwm into this box:
 
For terms and conditions, visit the main contact author page.


Sponsored Links

Madrid

The paper tore like skin from the flesh on the bone
And when I realised myself it was the done
Ease of the act appalled me most. Here at home
On a Friday-off from work it seemed that doom –
That should be blocked by a silent, novelist's time –
Could still sound its mark when I made mine
With a journalist’s signalling, blackened opening line.

Was my morning really the same as those who, in lines,
Waited, scanning the lists of names to mine
From the gaps some dizzying connection across time?
In a tarantella of hope and fear the mobiles' bleep
And in the echoes off the microphones' sweep
Someone else's silence is broken, someone must weep
Reading the meaning of no-signal signs (too deep?).

By our two shaking hands, I find something apparent
Which I might not infer when I re-find the page in ten
Beats' time. How easily my mind with its unmarking trend
Can sound out the human of TERROR IN M...

Previous Poem | Next Poem

Written on March 12th, 2004.

Top of Page

Your comments, criticism and suggestions on any of the material on this site are very welcome: Your Comments

The content of this website is Copyright © 2005 using a Creative Commons Licence. Plagiarism is theft! If using information from this website in your own work, please ensure that you use the correct citation.

Valid XHTML 1.0. Link opens in a new browser window. Level A conformance icon, W3C-WAI Web Content Accessibility Guidelines 1.0. | Labelled with ICRA. Link opens in a new browser window.
Page last modified on