Snapshot of a Soul in Transit - Mark Laurent

8/3/2019 Snapshot of a Soul in Transit - Mark Laurent

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Snapshot of a Soul

in Transit

Mark Laurent

poetry 2005-10

ISBN 978-0-473-17360-9


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CONTENTS

The Blank Page 4 I Wait Now 5We Went Forth 6

Where At Last We Can Speak 7You Love To Be Out There 8

Ive Got A Brand New Pen 9What Was It, Again? 10Before I Learnt 11

Like Ink From The Nib 12Two Green Apples 13

Did You Notice 14When I Feel Anxious 15Straight Lines 16Before I Make My Entrance 17Sunflower 18

How Am I Supposed To Know 19

Foragers 20Creating A Masterpiece 21Gee, I Was Writing So Well Before 22

And So I Write 23Tiny Dog 24Cracked Sacrament 25Water Spills From Heavens Cup 26

A Walk In August 27The Saints Make Me Nervous 28

Faulty Thinking 29Taste 30Standing Up Here 31

I Just Picked Up This Stone 32 A Shy Boy Sits 33

I Have A Photo Of You Now 34 I Didnt Shave This Morning 35 Desert 36The Table Is Kauri Gold 37

Every 38Our Words Are Angels 39

I Can Let You Go Now 40 Doing Nothing 41


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There Werent Any Brochures 42 It Gets Harder Every Day 43 Empty Spaces 44 I Wish 45 Heaven Is Like This 46 A Man Would Give His Sandal 47Seagull In The Storm 48The Look Of Words 49Youve Got Mail 50

Harrisons Gallery 51 I Am Awake 52Whangamata 53Beautiful Loser 54Stab 56T 57Blank Page # 2 58

Fishing Trip 59 Revolting Green 62

For Jane 64

to Jane Fromontwith our love

Cover photos: Paul Restall, Mark LaurentGraphic design: Brenda Liddiard

Copyright Mark Laurent 2010www.marklaurent.co.nz


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4

The Blank Page

Each day is an empty canvas, and we painton it as we will. Sometimes we choose thepalette, sometimes its chosen for us.Sometimes other hands and imaginationsmay contribute to, or interfere with, ourwork-in-progress. But we always have a wetbrush in hand, and can modify the hues, ifnot always the composition. And we get tochoose when and how to hang the work, andwhen and how to start a fresh canvas.

This blank page is my final frontier, myEverest. Its the cell where Ill achieve

transcendence; my cross and my emptytomb; my Emmaus and Damascus roads.Writing is a kind of meditation, a way ofprayer. Here I find a forum for angst andintuition. Here I make my confession, andfind absolution. Here, where I shed my past,lies my secret map of tomorrow.


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5

I Wait Now

I am hereIm waiting for you

to find mewaiting to hear

your voicelonging to feel

the urge -to know you again

Like a compass needleI will orient my map

by the pullof your nearness

Where will I goif you do not lead me?

What will I doif Im alone?

How shall I speakif you stay silent?

I wait nowall senses open

all paths before menowhere to go.


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6

We Went Forth

We went forthwe multipliedwe relinquished

the earth

A sower went out to sowand his seed fell on

the groundand thorns sprang up

and choked the earthquicker than any dirt

he could pile on

You can tell a tree byits fruit

you can tell a man byhis seed

but its no good telling anyof this to the earth

So go forthand subtractand replenish

the earth.


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7

Where At Last We Can Speak

Emotions split into soundsthoughts break down

to syllable and syntax

This fragile thread oflanguage

suspends us nowlike nervous childrentraversing a hair

bridgehearts and hands

tremblingabove the chasm of

not-knowing

as ifby crossingwe might find

safe haven for ourdreams

and a company of mindwhere at last we can

speak

in whole sentencesof our broken-ness

and find each other inour aloneness.


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8

You Love To Be Out There

You love to be out thereriding that shapely platform

of dreamssurfing the blue tube of adrenalin

transcending the turbulencea momentary conqueror

of the powerful ocean

which, in macrocosmis so much like your world

reallywith its peaks and troughs

You never could abide a flat calm

You love to be out therelike a child swinging

on the skirts of Gods cloakspinning on the rim of the

whirlpoolflying in Leviathans wake

at the swelling, surgingbosom

of life.

(for Dennis Conquest Whale Bay, Raglan)


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9

Ive Got A Brand New Pen

Ive got a brand new penits a brand new daythe cicadas and birdscelebrate matinsin the dew-washed treeseverything is ready

waitingto see what happens next

And Im reaching,stretching

scrutinising these wordslonging to be taken by

surpriseto wake to a fresh dawn

within myself

For this is the parable ofdaybreak

preached afresh each morningso that we have no excuseto doubt the wonder of

creation

and every day, like Nicodemuswe relearn the mystery

You must be born again.


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10

What Was It, Again?

How did so much goodnessfail

and innocence morph to pain?Was there a single moment

of blind turningor a thousand little deathsthat only the dumb night

noticed?When did those beautiful eyes

begin to hate the lightand your ears retreat from

the sound of truth?Who stopped your mind from

knowing -your heart from caring -

that it was lost?Where is the door in the

wallyou built against God?Who sold you the armourwhich you now wear daily

into battle with life?

Do you still know me at all?I once thought that I knew youbut time has played tricks on

both of usand taken something away- what was it, again?


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11

Before I Learnt

Under the housein the cobwebbed twilightamongst garden toolsthe old lawn mowera couple of rubber gas masksleft over from that

unconsummated wara scattering of lead croquetteson the dust-matted floor

I never did knowwhat they were for

next to the grimy windowsits my old yellow pedal car

right by the spot whereI used to pick up my

imaginary friendson innocent, pre-school

morningsin the 1950s dream-timebefore I learnt that

imaginary friendscouldnt go driving with meand didnt have real names.


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12

Like Ink From The Nib

Im learning to trustthough I seem to learn slowly

that God-gifts, once givenare given for keeps

like this gift to fill paperwith language and spirit

so that each time I chooseto pick up my penideas will flow freelylike ink from the niband even if someare fickle

or wasted

the gift will make sureof its reason for beingwith words that add valuespread out before meas if by some magic

yet strangely familiarbecause God-gifts are

like thatthey never prove empty

as I think you can see.


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13

Two Green Apples

Two green applespocked with tiny brown

bullet-holeslie on the morning-damp

grassbelow the house

diminutive first-fruitsof what promises to be

a good harvest

but well have to shareseveral of them

with the burrowing mothswho also knowthis garden as home

- the Lord is their realtorthey shall not want

their ancestors probablyhave a stronger claim

than we(with our deeds of title)

to be tangata whenua ofthis patch of earth.


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14

Did You Notice

Did you noticehow completelynothing has changed?Is it any wonderwhen truth stubbornlyholds its ground?

Revolutionariesdont really standmuch of a chancewhat with the sunand the starsand seasons

all so stuck in their ways.

What hope has a new idea gotagainst the unrepentant earth?How can we possibly make

progresstoward any idea

of transcendencewhen all creation insists

unflinchingly

on these arcane rhythmsof birthing and dying?

Perhaps wed makea better success of livingif we overcame our fear

of the way things are.


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15

When I Feel Anxious

When I feel anxiousI start to get spiritualand my prayers fill heaven

like wind-driven smoke

God must be so gladto hear from me againIm sure he was getting lonely

Maybe if he allows meto get into more troublewe can develop a really

healthy relationship - ?


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16

Straight Lines

Straight linesdelineate your life

punctuate your thoughtsmap your certain trajectory

Order, you saywe must maintain order

tame the wildernessfence every paddock

wall our gardenssubdue natures prodigal

inconvenient urges

But God didnt createany straight lineseven his crucifix

was a rough-hewn thingunlike any altar piece

or gabled rooflineor concrete intersection

in this town

Look to the mountains

from whence your help comesbut youll find

no straight linesout there

either.


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17

Before I Make My Entrance

I am in my placebut where is that exactly?

Is there a role for thosewhove played the show

so longthe script has worn thin?I can no longerclearly hear my cuesso am unsure where to

enterwhen to exit

and I sit here, uncertainat the side of the stage

half-hidden in shadowsdoodling with my lines

shuffling pageswondering if a new playmight magically emergefrom this time of waitingand just a little afraidthat the audience may havevacated their seats

before I make my entrance.


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18

Sunflower

Sunfloweryou lived a good life

though shorter than Id havewished

stood tall and joyfulsaluting the light

a large, humble beautyin your corner of the garden

where you seemed quitehappy

just to be theremostly unnoticed

with no need of fanfare

no promise of immortalitycontent to be visitedby the occasional bee

or butterfly.

But my eyes have seenyou

and this page remembersyour curious statuaryyour telescopic climb

from soil to skyand your bowing at last

to the will of naturethat your manifold childrenso close to your open heart

might find their wayhome.


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19

How Am I Supposed To Know

Choices tease mea box of chocolatesheld out to a five-year-old

ooh!its so hard to decidewhen you know thatall of them are nice

if I choose this oneIll miss out on that one

and even if there aresome of those tart onesthat only the grown-ups likehow am I supposed to know

which shapes to avoidwhen theyre so cunningly

disguisedin silvery brightnessafter all, Im only smallI cant read the labelsand besides Im in a hurrypleasure like this cant waitso Ill just have to take a dipand hope I get a nice one

eenie, meenie, minie


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Foragers

Oh Lord, your larderwhere theres plenty of food

for all!Our garden is verdantand the possums rampantfighting over the delicacieswe thought were oursbut creation is a lolly

scramblenot a supermarketyour money, or statusis no guarantee of provisionbut the rain falls where

it fallsthe sun shines where

it shinesand if youre lucky enoughto be there at the momentwhen blessing happensthen youre truly blessedand if you happen to miss

outthen the snacks youll get

are the crumbs that fallfrom the jaws of other

foragers.


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21

Creating A Masterpiece

Creating a masterpieceisnt that easy

first youve gotto be a master

then you must decidewhat sort of piece

youll createand until you decide

youll have no peacebut a head-full of creatures

to master.


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22

Gee, I Was Writing So Well Before

Gee, I was writing so well beforebut the well is mud and echoesand nothing comes cleanon these dusty daysdryness might yet desiccate

my soulwhile I hover here at the rimwhere Id hoped to find waterbut I cant even see my

reflectionas I stare darkly intothe bottom of this pitempty bowl in my hand

no flow of thought in myhead

only a slow drip fromsomewhere

staining a ragged patternwhich seems to make no senseto my parched brain.


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23

And So I Write

Write, you seem to be sayingand so I write

and sometimes my words flow like watersometimes they drop like constipation

but they always come

the many and few, joyous and strugglersthe free and fettered, hopeful and doubters

- they come together

they are my companionsmy messengers and slaves

tormentors and liberators

they strip me nakedand pin my heart to the city gate

I will always be grateful to them.


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24

Tiny Dog

Tiny dogpeers from thedrivers windowof an SUVin the supermarket

car park

I wonderhow he managesto reach

the pedals?


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Cracked Sacrament

We are trophies of gracewe dont actually do much

just sit thereas signs of successreminders of redemption

Gods little rewardsto himself

rough earthenware gobletsto hold heavens libation

cracked sacramentsof hope

plaques on the walldeclaring to thosewho stop to read us

JesusFirst Prize

Love


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26

Water Spills From Heavens Cup

Water spills from heavens cupwhose sop will absorb it?

Where can Gods excess be storedor who counts his tears?

What has caused this catharsisand who will comfort the clouds

in their great grief?

Grey is the colour of mourningand rain the sound of healing.

If this storm is a measure of agonythen no waiata will bring back

the light

till the earth soaks upthe skys darkening sorrow.

18 May 2005 - the Bay Of Plenty floods


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27

A Walk In August

This winter seasonleaves me bare

sun denies lightto faltering sky

while mourning earthand skeletal trees

stand trembling, nakedbefore, behind me

regarding this strangerwith chill dispassion

The ghostly voicesand prying fingers

of frosted windcreep under my collar

invade my spacenarrowing my eyes

which turn inwardsquinting in twilight

hoping for signstrying to believe

time will passwinter will end.


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The Saints Make Me Nervous

The saints make me nervousthose lovers of holy pain

who run to embrace the crosswelcoming the pitiless spike

in hand or heart or brow

You consorts of solitudecompanions of the empty tomb

willing gardeners of Gethsemanedaily hiking the Via Dolorosa

- I wish I could travel with you

But Im afraid that Id falter

half-way up Skull Hilland turning back is even worse

than never starting to climb.


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29

Faulty Thinking

Faulty thinkinghas got me this far

quite a long wayI suppose

Poor judgementdecided my fate

cast the runessomewhere east of Eden

Self-deceptionhas protected me

from many hurts

cushioning my fragile ego

Double-minded-nessdubiously propels

my somewhat erratic coursenevertheless.


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Taste

Do I have tastelike a morsel on your plate?I may sting like salt on a woundbut sprinkle my substanceand Ill preserve your flesh- when I touch ice, it melts

For I am elemental, and crudely potentat least for this short span of wordsand you can use me up if you like- that is my earthy naturemy one true gift

And when I have been exhaustedthere wont be much residueexcept, perhaps, that the savourof the world might be a little richerand maybe your tired eyeswill shine bright again

Then my energy will be well spentand you can scatter whats left of mein the water, or on the wind.

(a reflection on Matt.5;13, Mk.9;49-50)


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31

Standing Up Here(by The Singer)

Do you think it looks easy?standing up here like a fairground target

moving just enoughto put you off your aim

as I cower behindmy six-string fig-leaf

and try passionately to fend you offwith this plaintive ululation

Would you like to swap places?and Ill sit in your seatwhile you call the tune

and render me placidrelieved that the spotlightisnt shrinking my pupils

- I will see your fragilityand know youre just like me

Shall we sing one together?


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32

I Just Picked Up This Stone

I just picked up this stoneits a beautiful thing

hard and weighty and shapely

this stone is a lot like you and meit may look inert, and of not much use

but it has a story a past, present and future

I just picked up this stoneonce it was part of a mountain or riverbed

somehow it broke awayand time has carried it here

one day it will be worn down to sandand maybe a flower will root and grow there

but right now it is in my handand I am seeing its beauty and potential

this stone is a miracle, andit makes me feel love

God holds us in the palm of his handjust as I hold this stone

he sees our hardness and our beautyhe feels our weight and rough edges

he knows our history, and our potential

we are all miracles waiting to happenwe should feel loved.

Wellington/Whangamata, 1971-2005


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33

A Shy Boy Sits

A shy boy sitson concrete stepsa black and white portraitof a rosy timein the Box Brownie decade

He tilts his fair wavy headsmiles guilelesslyat whoever held the camerabare knees protrudeabove little Roman sandalsa knitted cardiganwith big wooden buttons

holds his skinny frame together

Hands grip the steplike a pillion passenger

just to make surewhere he is

When I look closelyeverything in this photo is blurryas if maybe the photographer

was moved by what she sawor as if this imagewas a snapshotof a soul in transiteither not yet quite formedor on the point of leaving.


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34

I Have A Photo Of You Now(to Philip Hayvice, 1953-1988)

You took yourselfout of the picture

with no saying goodbye

Left us with torn canvasa broken frame- its hard to remove all our traces

from the world

You wanted to disappear- but not entirely

You were putting togethera snapshot album of your fading lifeyou asked me for photosbut I didnt have any

If youd asked me for helpwhat would I have said?

I have a photo of you nowthat your sister sent

but I dont see you in it.


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35

I Didnt Shave This Morning

I didnt shave this morning

I got up with the first streakof eastern light

and an over-ripe moon hangingin the western deep

pulled on warm layersof wool and nylon

against the dry ice southerlymade my way down streets

steeped in sleepto the Tuesday morning

prayer group

a small, tight circle ofstraight-backed chairs

with Jack and JimSue, Jennifer

Robbie and Lionelall of us huddled around

one struggling fan heater

And Jesus was there, too.


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36

Desert

Adventure would be nicebarren worlds make you feelbetter to be alivedeserts are living places, too

Discomfort will be forgotten, sodont miss the opportunitydrag yourself up a chunky,dry crust is better thanendless days of thin soup

Harsh winds force openingsjourneys begin with thresholds

known ways wont satisfy, tilllittle by little youmiss the path amidmonochrome landscape andmonotonous horizon

Its anormal state of alienationnot the way youd planned it, theroad less traveled

rough justice of the spirit

Scenery breaks the heartsigns and wonders season thetasteless flesh of fear, sotolerate any amount of abuse itswrong not to try.


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37

The Table Is Kauri Gold

Its a grey, damp afternoonIm sitting at the kitchen tableblue pen in my handa pensive tilt to my elbowsthe table is kauri goldtheres a stub of candlein a squat glass holdera smear of congealed waxon the table-topand a square bottle withpink daisies and lavenderblossoming from its mouththe daisies have furry yellow hearts

which glow like tiny sunsIm leaning toward their lightas one hunches by a firenot reaching, not withholding

just waiting to see who moves firstme, or the pen.


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Every

Every story tellsa picture

Every picture holdsa clue

Every clue createsa memory

Every memory sparksa story


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Our Words Are Angels

Our words are angelseach one a miracle-worker

or a lurking demonour mouths portals from heaven

gateways to the graveour tongues sparks of fire

with which we inflame the worldevery open ear a chalice

brimming with bitter/sweet infusionswe ingest the nectar, or dregs

of the spoken worlddividing sound from sound

deciding, syllable by syllable,

whether to fly, or fall.


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I Can Let You Go Now

I can let you go nowthough Im sorry its taken so long

so much leverageIm a slow learner

for all my compliant wordsand reluctant to obey

wisdoms subtle nudges

Ill have to stand alonewith no excuses to scaffold

my teetering frameI wonder what passers-by

will make of me?

a man so utterly strippedsuch nakedness will get me

into troublenow I wont have you

to cover me

Still, I think I can letyou go now

because holding on so tighthas come to feel

stiff and unsustainableand the grip that locks us together

is mostly reflex.


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41

Doing Nothing

Ive finished all my choresand now I sitand listen to the beatof my restless heart

and feel the effortof my hungry lungs

and notice the tremorsof this stoically resigned bodyso used to my striving waysattuned to my urgency

fixed in my service- ready enough to stop

if only Id give it a chance! -

But of course Im alreadyswivelling in my chair

wondering what to do next- thats why Im writing

because its easier thandoing nothing.


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42

There Werent Any Brochures

I didnt sign on for thisthere was nothing about it in the brochures

actually, there werent any brochuresI just took peoples word for it

though how would they know?I certainly dont any more.

But theres no exit clauseand if I do decide to defaultIm left carrying the damages.There shouldve been some warninga big red circle on the packet

DID YOU KNOW LIFE CAN BEHAZARDOUS TO YOUR HEALTH?

Everyone pats you on the backsays, Congratulations! Go for it!No-one tells you about the painor if they do, its with embarrassed smilesDont worry, itll soon be overor You can do it, mate! Youre toughbut thats not how if feels

thats not who I amso show me the contract

theres no mention of guaranteed outcomesin the fine print

only a blank space at the bottom

PLEASE SIGN HERE...


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43

It Gets Harder Every Day

It gets harder every dayto think an original thoughtmy head is full of wordsbut most of them belongto somebody else

Perhaps Ive never reallyowned an original thoughtperhaps someone elsefills my mindmaybe when I was youngerI simply hadnt noticedthat my head had been taken over

Its possiblethat what Ive just writtenisnt even my idea.


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44

Empty Spaces

I offer you my empty spacesas they must be vacantfor a very good reason

If youd like to, you can fill themwith intentions of your own

Ill be like a jar holding wateryou can tilt me this way, or thatthen others who are emptycan be filled, as well.


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45

I Wish

I wish I had wordsto straighten your path

to light your way

I wish I had strengthto carry you

when youre feeling small

If only I held the keyId open the doors

so you could enter

If only I had a voice

Id speak the namethat you answer to

I wish I was youthen I could decide

what to do with your life.


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46

Heaven Is Like This

Heaven is like this:

A woman at the table

working yeast into the doughshaping life with her fingers

waiting for it to rise

Heaven is a loaf of bread.


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47

A Man Would Give His Sandal

A long time agoa man would give his sandal

as a pledgea sign of the promise he made

Today, in this world of promiseI wear my shoes

as a pledgea sign of the man I want to be.


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48

Seagull In The Storm

Ive never really been strongnever really held on to my directionlike a needle seeking northI can be thrown off

by any vibrationso I call out to youlike a seagull in the storma baby who cries

for his mothers arms

Sun is warm upon my backgreen earth instructs and enfolds methere is nothing that I lack

except the truth of the storiesyou told me

when I called out to youlike a heckler in the crowda sinner at the edge

of your circle of friends.

Ive never really been aloneonly in the depths of my imaginationand when theres nowhere to go

I stand still and hopefor salvation

then I call out to youlike a shepherd in the dark

just outside the shelterwhere love is born.


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49

The Look Of Words

I like the look of wordsthe way they flow on

the surface of paperand sink deep in the brain

One word can be wortha thousand pictures

it can set the heart on fire

A sentence mayovercome the world.


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50

Youve Got Mail

Im sending a message to youcan you feel it coming?

I impart emotion and logicthrough pressure of fingers

on tablets of plasticmy intentions are racing

through wires, through spaceat speeds much faster

than mind or sounds can traveland somehow they find you

in places I have never beenand if the ones and the zeros

successfully untangle

then the miracle of mind-travelwhich we now take for granted

will translate me safelyto wherever you are.


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51

Harrisons Gallery

The slender marksand splashed-on hues

expressive stroke-ingsthat artists use

to capture lightarrested in time

affixed by artframed in a line

and held up tothe wandering eye

these fragile visionssoul-food to buy

and most will pass

just one remainto buy the gift

to know its name.


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52

I Am Awake

Its 4:25 a.m.two stars wink at melike the eyes of Godthe bedroom door groans sleepilyas I slip downstairsnaked on this balmy nightto drink palmfuls of waterfrom the kitchen tap

Two morporks signal each otheracross the nestling valleyand a lone truck drivergrinds gears on the bypass road

awake with dreams of his ownheadlights searing the tunnel of night

The kitchen clocks heart beatsa counterpoint to my ownas my feet feel their accustomed wayback up the stairsin the circadian darkwhich silently beckons meinto her voluptuous arms.


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53

Whangamata

Walking into townunder bare-limned treesbeside the mangrove sealistening to the carsas they race somewherearound the curvesinto winter distance

Port Road is snoozingin weak afternoon sunshop doors gape dumblyas I saunter byalmost the only visitor

my reflection watches me passtheir pleading window displays

2 books for the library1 parcel to postIll find my wife a presentat the new age gift shopGreg stops his truck for a chatI lean in the passenger windowlife passes in slow motion

Walking out of townthrough the supermarket car-parkacross the helicopter landing fieldlistening to the gullsas they fly somewherecurving around the harbourinto winter distance.


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54

Beautiful Loser

Youre a beautiful loserin that red surfer tee-shirtand blue panel vaneven the paint smears on your labourer

forearmsand your possum-in-the-headlights stareadd wairua to your duckling grace

You cut off those dreadlockswhich youd cultivated for yearsand the other night you told meas we stood in the club bar meleemaybe youd been too hasty

I liked the image they gave youkind of piratical, wild-man, free-manbut youre still a beautiful loserthough youll need to wear a hat nowwhen the ozone hole stretches

Like the hole in your pocketthe cell phone bill makeswhen your wife phones too often

just to talk about nothing

or, Whatll we have for dinner?because she gets a bit lonelyonly talking to your babiesand shes really in lovewith her beautiful loser


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So youre a small-town productionshort hair, short expectations, short patiencewith politics, religion, social engineersyou suspect the reds and the greensmuch like your father in his time

he was a beautiful loser, tooand you dont want to be like himbut seem to be anywaywith your construction job prospectsloan repayments and family ties

You say youre overweighttry to resist bar-snack temptationto me you look plump with good healthbut you are how you feel

and we all bear a secret imageof disappointment close to our heartsand I can say what I likebut you have to believethat youre a beautiful loser.


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56

Stab

Sometimes I try so hardto be my mythical good selfbut no-one seems to notice

Did you feel like that Jesus?Pouring your soul out to thoseneedy, greedy, weary crowdsday after exhausting dayonly to have them turn on youstab you in the hand and side

Which is harder to bearintolerance, or indifference?

Did you ever feel thatdespite all your words and good intentionsand the discomfort occasioned by acts of lovethat your whole short life had beena bloody waste of time?

What tipped the scales for you?Whose soft-spoken words of encouragementmade it all worthwhile?

I could do with hearing that voice now.


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57

T

T corrals me at the parish picnicbehind the salad table

asks, Do you believe in conspiracies?

and wont take no for an answer

T worries about the Freemasonshes read that theyre infiltrating churches

planning to instigate Satan worshipThe ministers are often plants.

Have you noticed how many of themused to be insurance salesmen?

T gives me pamphlets

warning me to cut up my credit cardinsisting that Noahs Arks been found

(though Turkish authorities are covering itup)

T tells me about his mental health history- though hes been well now for two years

and is training as a crisis counsellorthough he declines to attend the Mens

Wellness lecture

at the Cosmopolitan Clubas hes heard its sponsored by the Masons.


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58

Blank Page # 2

This was a blank pagebut Ive changed that forever

There was a good reason for doing soas I hope will become clear soon

So if I just keep writingIll reach the bottom before long

- or maybe I already have


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59

Fishing Trip

Im in the salty bow of the fishing boatfeeling the oceans breathing belly

rising falling teasing my writers hand

The others have their lines outpassing comments and bait packets

across the deckbright bursts of boyish excitement

mannish laughter

I have my spirit-hook out, toohoping to catch something

in the ocean of silence

A lone seagull has shadowed us from shorehe circles, hovers, screeches encouragement

All of us eventually fall silententranced by the mantra of the wavessea and sky are one vast meditation

Our gull has been joined by a companion

even though were a long way from landthey obviously have faith in the goodwill of

fishermenwho experience the unpredictable generosity

of the sea


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60

Everything moves out here motionof blood, of breath, of light, of sound -

even when I make myself sit absolutely stillI bob like a cork, chest rises and falls

my hair snaps like prayer flags in the breeze

Islands of light and shadowmove along the coast

and across the water toward, over uscloud sculptures shape-shift fantasies from

zenith to horizonthe companioning wind sings about

the mast-headand against my chilled eardrums

At every point of the compassthe sea is a palette

silver, green, black, deep blue, grey, lemon

Im content being the scribe todaywith my paper net and ink-tipped barb

why should I fish when I dont need them?let them enjoy this day of freedom

nobodys catching much, anyway, and Imglad

though I wouldnt tell them that

B caught one a while back, and dropped itin a plastic box by the wheelhouse

I could hear it flapping in little, urgentbursts,

for ages


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maybe it was just auto-reflexbut it sounded like slow death to me

fishermen would probably shrug that off

I hinted to J that actually Im a closet

Buddhistand that the fishing would be better if I

wasnt hereputting out fish-compassionate energy

again, I wouldnt tell them thatmy names not Jonah.


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Revolting Green

Fence postsroad markersa concrete bridge buttressmounds of shingleflash by the car windowas we race toward Lewis Passand all those straight-backedbeech treeshemming us in- at rest now, but waiting row upon row upon green row- at ease now, but waiting -silent ranks of a vast standing army

- waiting till its time -poised to take back the battered earthfrom the clumsy humanswhove mismanaged it long enough

One dark and stormy nightthe tempest will give his signalthe forward line will drop to their belliesblocking these forest roadsand this army will move out

crashing down hillsidesrolling across the plainsrising up in every village and cityblocking all exits


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There will be no holding backtheir creaking, rustling advancebut they wont make their movetill the oil crisis has paralysed usand chainsaws no longer have

any power to intervene

This will be a bloodless revolutionbecause by then the humans will knowthat we have no right to resist.


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For Jane

I sit by your bedside in my mindholding your hand so frail in minehow does it feel for you, my friend?both of us know that its the endand theres not a lot that I can giveexcept for a hug and a prayertheres not a lot that you can takewhen its time to step out of here

We dont talk about this thing too muchits the one thing that comes to all of usand life gets more precious as years go bythe oftener we have to say goodbye

and there is no substituteno way of opting outthe light and the shadow landstand beyond faith or doubt

I stand by your graveside, my friendneither of us will pass this way again

just like the flowers by the roadnow we are here, and now we gobut I will remember you

and tell your story in the nightso there is no need to fearthe approaching of the light.

Date post:	06-Apr-2018
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Snapshot of a Soul in Transit - Mark Laurent

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