Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Empty Afternoon

A distant beat:
The thud of broken speakers

A distant wail:
Brake pads need repair

A distant horn:
Angry motorist weaving

A distant slam:
The door signals you’re gone

A nearby creak:
Floorboards complaining

A nearby tock:
The day is leaving

A nearby tick:
Inevitabilities ignored

A nearby splash:
A single tear falling

The water’s draining

The curtain waves

The traffic stops

The night bleeds in.

Friday, April 23, 2010

W.H. Auden

A friend showed me this poem the other day. She said she had it for many years and just recently found it among her notes. She said she read it and immediately thought of me. I have never heard of the poem, but the minute I read it, I knew precisely what she meant. Reading it now, makes my heart skip a beat for the truth in his words.


Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.
--W.H. Auden