The Poetry Of..
John Shaw............................................................
Wise Child Dancing
Wise child dancing in the street,
nobody’s fool, yet so frail
a salt breeze, or a strange hand,
could carry you off. And who
would come looking, save me?
Wise child dancing on the high wire,
the world spread at your feet,
see the white-faced Pierrot,
given space by the clowns;
he is waiting to break your fall,
if that is the way it must be.
Wise child dancing, while love
lies winter cold, and mercy sleeps,
pin blood-red berries in your hair,
and dance for an old friend,
who cannot find his feet.
(To Rachel Sarai)
Lily In Weeds
Brett scans the lines
of seeds I have sown,
as we walk in the garden.
'Dad, why do you write such sad stuff?'
Glancing up at my life winging
silently above and
the neat confines of my garden,
and on into rugged foothills,
my head says he's right, it's true
Looking down I fumble round the pond
for lilies choking in weeds,
and finding a lone survivor,
display her to best advantage.
Still Child
Still child, cold kissed,
born but not woken,
never taken to your mammy's breast,
or gathered in your daddy's arms,
your destination hidden in
the creases of your tiny palm.
No love can hold you to this earth,
your perfect feet too small for baby shoes,
your wee fists never to be uncurled.
On this last night the lamplight
stutters a bright circle of tears.
The Sandman is scattering dust.
You and I must go our given ways,
your name, barely used,
a footnote on another's stone.
I shall not forget you, my beloved.
I pray you sleep cradled by stars.
Here comes the dust; forgive me,
I must close your eyes.
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