Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Surveyors of our crawl


The tapestry of shell feet traces
Landscape poetry in hairy stone
Erecting a bone-pinnacle of the scampering faith.

Climbing the green summit, pincer spins
Slanting a leaf's eye, pyramidal scar
Skipping the bow-strung vine, twanging
Trapeze of serpent-grass, pins
An arrow-head to a mossy star.

Crossroads sliding sun,
Relentlessly the sawn light threads
The mountain-compass of a hidden world
Curling its tide of rushing toes, scything
A mud-hole spring, bubbles fungi, swelling
A toadstool tower;

Sometimes a mowed half-moon, bending,
Carves a skull-rooted Carib prairie.

Faustin Charles
Crab Track  [fragment]
James Berry, editor
News for Babylon
  The Chatto Book of West Indian-
  British Poetry
The Hogarth Press
Chatto & Windus, 1984©

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