The Road To Damascus

ROAD TO DAMASCUS

Found, on the street, a stray

memory. A faded

photograph, poised

on the pavements edge.

I pick it up and ask

“who’s smiling now”.

The smoke of distant chimneys, hangs

like a solemn vow.

A bird glides down

and strikes

the shrouded sky.

The feathered-flesh

made word,

it screams “defy”.

(Now elevate the moment

separate

the power of darkness

from your restless mind.)

A sudden beam of light

destroys the shroud.

Malcolm Evison

September 1971

WINDBLOWN

WINDBLOWN

The howling gale subsides
to lullaby proportions -

the wind’s bluster
suddenly becalmed -

I watch the scudding clouds -
their bellies washed

by a low surfing sun -
no-one has told them

to stop their scurrying
so I return to mine.

Malcolm Evison
27 January 2008

Restoration

RESTORATION


A psychiatrist is duty
Cunningly disguised as man –

Defending the historic truths
Once made by mindless men
He views the scapegoat
Through a microscope
And the freedom
Proves embarrassing.

The victim has the time
To stand and stare
But will not say that
Those are sheep
And those are cows

He has no need

The doctor states it for him.

****

Enter the clinic as a man
Depart as a role
Leaving the poem
Unwritten.





Malcolm Evison (1967)