The house and barn have surrendered,
burrowing under the loose dirt of the sun.
Echoes run from house to barn, from barn to house,
a ritornello hurried along on the skirts of the wind.
Dust muffles yet imprints step and skip,
a written ergot that still keeps a voice
in the stillness. Laughter
trembles rafters, the faintest sound
stirs up bygone quotes and responses.
In the ruined barn, decay finds its language,
children still run here.
A transmission has leached from puttering feet;
it rattles the bones of embalmed mice.
A soundtrack of texture
running from barn to house – from house to barn.
Villanelle: Everything takes time: take not time by the forelock
Everything takes time: take not time by the forelock
Whether in deference to the past’s foiled efforts
The tingling ergot fires our desires do unlock
Rye clavicus purpurea our joints dislock
Till the soil of our conscience deeper than roots
Everything takes time: take not time by the forelock
Eastern sky pyrotechnics rude rockets won’t mock
In deference to witches’ brews sharp mandrake roots
The tingling ergot fires our desires do unlock
Infernal fires rage on in limbs of mad rock
Gargled warnings in the larvae spouting cheroots
Everything takes time: take not time by the forelock
Is that Bosch who will St Anthony’s fall not baulk
Memories of charred instant byres turned to soots
The tingling ergot fires our desires do unlock
Took thirteen point eight billion years to make a lark
How many to buy back twenty-one eight trillion debts
Everything takes time: take not time by the forelock
The tingling ergot fires our desires do unlock
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
Am unready for the substance
of the bodhi tree,
I will drink the cactus rain
and wait for glory,
but is that water just the heat
tempting me to cross,
are those desert blossoms my
infinite regress ?
And will I ever be the same
where those sand dunes blow,
if my time has come and gone
will I ever know ?
Will I be lost unto my self
if the vision stops ?
I will lay just where I am
‘til the penny drops !
Seeing through the unborn self here
Through the unborn eye.
made that green oasis, my
caravanserai,
at one to leave or part with ease,
set down the camel on it’s knees.
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