Friday, March 30, 2012


sunshine filling the kitchen,
cutlery stung by the light’s cry,
clock ticking its quiet fiery rhythm by,
floor minutely digressing in its
sun-filled specks of tiles
with memories of bees,
trees and seas
sweeping on in the stare
of their own time,
in this luminous
deluge of silence
while my dog lays her muzzle
as ever on my thigh,
here, under the table
where I sense a dazzled stillness
telling much more than
I’m able to tell,
in this still fiercely untrimmed
staring springtime,
in this quiet deluge
of minutes and ages
I just feel light can
summon all stages
over which spreading,
in jests that never rest,
the bright chores of ghosts,
the clamor of bones,
the burning, hidden
heart of stones,
and the thronging sinews
of the sun-beaten marrow
of noon.


Anonymous said...

You are ONNCE?

Dave King said...

Gorgeous. You get so early into your stride with lines like:-

cutlery stung by the light’s cry,

and then maintain the feast of images throughout.


Tommaso Gervasutti said...

Thank you David. Words like yours are a great encouragement.

Sometimes I fear to run the risk of just ranting... as it can be the case with my next post...sometimes I don't know if I govern words or words govern me.

Crafty Green Poet said...

I agree with Dave, that is a particularly striking image in the second line