Poem Of The Month: October 2014

NOT A MIRAGE

Your paintings show: you are frightened

of high waves and open land. Despite themselves

your drawn triangles are not self-contained; the colours

so light, barely colours at all; you like

your waters smooth, yet their plants grip you firmly,

anchoring you, too, in slime. Some dare to lift

their roots, though, and swim or even fly to follow

the beckoning of their visions: you’ve even rooted

your dreams.

I saw a trickle of water

falling onto a large stone:

it dripped, dripped, dripped,

yet never hurt the stone.

There was no clear indentation

after centuries of steady trickle.

Instead a line ran down,

splitting the sight,

a slimy line, green

with age and frustration.

SOMETHING TO SURVIVE ON

This dark

country’s

clocks.

Your

Fingerprints

on my desk.

The rain

consoles

scars.

CONSCIOUSNESS

She had walked

proudly through the park

not caring

who looked,

Stared,

or whistled.

She had suppressed

the need to listen

for following footsteps,

had begun to hum

with excitement:

to be free,

to stare back,

not to care,

to be herself,

yet not afraid.

When the gatekeeper

at the exit said,

well dear,

with your looks

you should

make someone

a very good housewife,

her step

grew timid

again

and she lowered

her eyes

in anger.

Photograph courtesy of The Belfast Telegraph

Sabine Wichert (1945-2014)

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Copyright © Sabine Wichert 2003

Cover Image: Pen Portrait

Copyright © Amos Gideon Greig

All rights reserved

The author has asserted her/his right under Section 77 of the

Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author

of this work.

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