Poetry - Graham Thomas Wilson

Now

Each fleeting moment of our lives -
The here and now that our awareness knows,
Is really all that can be said to be
As moments past are nothing more than memory.
And 'what will be' is nothing more than 'wait and see'
Confirmed the instant now becomes reality.

-----------------------------------------


The Winter Storm

I waited for the snow to fall -
Upon the bland prosaic sprawl
Of blocks and paths to nowhere at all.
A dash of white on a grey urban wall.

Impatient, I wanted the land transformed.
I wanted the laden clouds to storm.
I wanted the wind to blast the sleet,
Against the offending grim concrete.

Then one by one the flakes appeared.
They swirled, and danced, and downward steered,
By breeze, each to the other veered
To gather, settle, accumulate.

And soon the air was thick with white,
The ground completely out of sight.
The leaning drifts increasing height.
The Wind attacked with power and bite.

How nature answered my invitation
To bring about this transformation.
Might have come from my bold invocation...
But actually I'd tuned to the weather station.


---------------------------------



The Horizon


If there wasn't an horizon
Then the sea would climb the sky
And douse the sun, the moon, the stars
And soak a million nebulas.
Space and time would cease to be
Drowned by this wet infinity.
Submerged in this absurdity
I end my curious reverie.



------------------------



My Shirt

My shirt - my once old favourite shirt
That framed a younger form,
Now sits upon a growing heap
Of frayed and shrunk and torn.
With buttons that no longer meet
Where once they slotted nice and neat.
The dye is cast, this shirt is passed.
'twill be its final dawn


------------------------



Death We Conquered

Death we conquered once before,
When our improbable being came
From timeless nothingness
To grow from seed to dust,
For what and why? (who knows)
Then once again oblivious, we
Became nothing for eternity.


---------------------------



The Tree

Stark, denuded it stands alone,
No longer attired in green.
Leaves adrift in dull tan piles,
Blown by time and the wind...

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