A Home, Now Lost to Me

“Goodnight”, she said
and closed me off
beyond the curtains of my solitude.
Beneath the black and mottled dark
I heard a muffled cry and scream
and buried it below my long-sequestered dream
“Who was I to you,
but a curious sodden sailor,
left adrift at sea?”
Searching for a home
that now is lost to me…

© Michael Elis Pollard. All Rights Reserved.

In Peacetime

Where are the passionate? The wise men, the shaman, the resolute friend? I tell you, “You have cut them loose and forgotten them; left them chained within the mighty oak, or buried in the sands outside the promised land.” You called and they came: Moses, Churchill, Merlin. They stood among the battlefields, and stepped through the flames. Regimes rose and fell around them; great Egypt, the Saxons, the Third Reich. Even so, the world finds little room for passionate men in times of peace.

© Michael Elis Pollard. All Rights Reserved

the heart is an exhaustible resource

stagnancy crashes its way through embittered doors
hopes held hostage by ineludible solitude
the cumulative weight of the lives of others
obstinately lived apart and held at length
the cost of coping heard far off
in the longing sighs of lovers
each morning after and after
we start again
with too few pieces left
to find ourselves
and start anew

© Michael Elis Pollard. All Rights Reserved