RAMBOUILLET

 

In February, 1999, representatives of the European Union, the Russian Federation and the United States of America met in Rambouillet and after weeks of deliberation issued a declaration to solve the crisis in Kosovo, where religious/nationalist fighting was at its fiercest.

 

 

Threatening words on paper

Discussion is ferocious, after breakfast

and before lunch.

 

‘My missiles will destroy...

And your helicopters'

 

‘Try the salmon, it's delicious’

 

In Kosovo, a mother

is burying her little girl.

 

‘I must rush to catch my plane -

this Sunday we’ll go ski’.

 

Rattata - small arm’s fire.

Not a big bomb, like that on paper.

 

Small bullets. Small wounds.

A few small children dead.

 

‘Good morning. Today

I’ll have some scrambled eggs’.

 

Must rush, we have a full agenda

To discuss

 

 

A SMALL STONE

 

Aviva drives, her daughter                             

Seven years old. Seven,                                 

Sits tightly held

By her belt. Seven                     

The road is clear                                             

Home is near                                                            

Coming back from school                             

 

God is not looking.

Another god takes aim

Another arm throws the stone

A small stone, just enough

To break the windshield, and then

Aviva lost control

 

The road was clear

The sun was bright

Nobody else was in sight

The car swerved aside,

Smashed into a tree

And then the flame,

And then the cries:

Mommy, mommy, why don’t you

Answer me?

The tank explodes. No more sound

Comes from inside the car

 

The hand that threw

That little stone

Returns to his village

His spirits high,

A hero’s welcome

Awaits the hand

That threw the stone

That struck the car

That smote the life

Of mother and child

 

When will the heart

That’s made of stone

Become a part

Of humankind?

 

When will the stone

Be used to build

A house of love

A church of faith

Or pave a road

To drive in peace?

 

 

 

SILENT FIRES

 

When the demiurge chose to create time

His hands were full, so he

Used his mouth, spitting out

Pearls and maledictions

Fury rode the night, no flower

Could stand the stamp of cloven foot

Voltaire no longer laughed

And demons shrank and vanished

Into dust

Ember eyes and gleaming teeth,

A string of golden spines upon his head

Hell hath no fury

Like the twisted, shaven balls

Of that monstruoso

Pintoretto

Hold the lyre, black Lombroso,

Make the spaghetti sing

And touch the sea.

But then, no more

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ARRIBA, ARRIBA

 

Arriba! Arriba!

Wait until you reach

The pinnacle and then

How pleasant is the view

The valley down below

The snowy mountain tops

And the blue dark sea

 

Arriba! Arriba!

The struggle, claws and fangs

No holds barred,

Punch where you will,

Kick, spit, lie and hide,

Make a virtue of deceit,

Blow his brains, push her down

How pleasant it will be

To reach the view

Of mountain, vale and sea

 

To sleep, perchance to dream?

No time to waste,

Must push and push to rise

Arriba! Arriba!

And yet behind

Each pinnacle, you see

Another, higher still

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE CLAWS OF TIME

 

The claws of time have torn my flimsy cloak

and left me bare and bereft

waiting for time to heal the wound

that time has made

 

No future can compare to that ancient road

that joyfully I traveled. Having aimed

at the stars, I listened to the sound

of spheres without end.

 

By memory of regrets my soul is bound.

Darkness awaits, desire having spent

itself, I look around

in front, behind, I find no friend