Glass

Well, first of all – Happy New Year! And that’s an order! Apparently, though, the devious Australians have already started the new year and the Japanese followed. This is intolerable – some people are in 2011 and others are in 2012! Now the poem that follows has nothing to do with a new year, so that’s all right.

 

GLASS

 

The glass creation on the shelf

In the early morning light refracts, transmutes

The arriving light into changing colours and links

That fade and reform with the slightest of gentle shifts.

 

If you try to see through it the waving winter trees

The dirty yellow brick of the disused hospital

Or the unseasonal swallow swooping, veering,

You will not see them as they know themselves

Or as you saw them when you came to the room.

 

But the glass is not what it would be in the dark

Or the pale consistent glow of the strip lighting

And if you shut your eyes to be blind and handle it

Like a dying sculptor in clay discovering shape

You will see a different thing and the swallow will be in the dark

And the light will be working in ways you do not sense.

 

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4 Comments

  1. More, and more I’m liking your work–find myself “visiting” often. Thank you for another window on the world, Simon! God bless you today.

    Reply
    • Thanks, Caddo. You know how much I like your work. Through words we can glimpse eternity. Through words we can be wordless.

      Reply
  2. And a Happy New Year to you, my good fellow.

    Keep on scribbing; how glad I am I have found your page.

    ~The Dippylomat esq.

    *still shaking off the remnants of 2011*

    Reply
    • “Scribble, scribble, Mr Gibbon, what? What?” (George III).

      “Stop that gibbon, stop that gibbon, stop that gibbon NOW!” (The Goodies).

      Delighted to have found your cultured dispatches!

      Reply

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