Roz Kaveney (rozk) wrote,
Roz Kaveney

Somehow this one didn't get posted here


All of his songs are air – not even dust.
Gone where no echo ever brings sound back
into forgetfulness. And so we pack
worship into that emptiness. We trust

his name alone, without his words or songs.
First was the best, we say, and hope we lie
but fear it true. Poets, musicians die
with envy in their hearts. To him belongs

all praise. In the beginning was the word?
No, music first? For him no such debate,
the will to know truth, knowing to create,
and sing as pure and simple as a bird.

And all is lost. It's that wound drives us on-
with poem or song to remake what is gone.

  • Had to be a London poem

    LONDON Night in a city that has licked its wounds Two thousand years. And curls around its kits Feeding and grooming heroes cowards wits Lovers and…

  • What it says

    ON LIGHT Sentience basks where crystals just reflect. Blind kittens stretch and mew into the sun Soft pressure on their skin. There's straight lines…

  • A poem sort of about science

    LORENZO ON LANIAKEIA A feather or a skeleton of leaf A spiderweb that blows in breeze when torn Out on the edge of nothing we are born Blue void's…

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