Skip to Content

Poems

Night-fishers

1 June 2013

9:00 AM

1 June 2013

9:00 AM

They might almost be bushes, boulders,
they sit so still.
Night floods the meadow at their shoulders,
brims the canal, and renders rod and line
invisible.

Traffic on the by-pass sighs
as if asleep.
A mallard claps derisively and flies.
Cows rip the grass. Its being chosen makes
the silence deep.


The rooms that penned them flicker in
synaptic light;
eyes gaze at screens; ears buzz with din;
the mirror that enchants these fishermen
is lost to sight.

Upon it, jobs, debts, children, wives
leave not a mark;
its stillness underlies their lives
and raises wordless thoughts, as shy as fish,
out of the dark.


Show comments
Close