The stars are in our belly; the Milky Way our umbilicus.
Is it a consolation that the stuff of which we’re made
is star-stuff too?
– That wherever you go you can never fully disappear –
dispersal only: carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen.
Tree, rain, coal, glow-worm, horse, gnat, rock.
Monday, 23 January 2017
Lost Species poem 19: Geoffrey Leggett
He’s the only one who’ll look you in the eye
and looking, make you feel he’d like to talk;
he takes no heed of other passers-by
but motionless, he sits as if in thought.
Unconsciously, he scratches at his thigh
and takes a sniff at what it is he’s caught
then, satisfied there’s one less louse at work,
he examines it and eats it by and by.
Turns out he hasn’t got a lot to say,
our thoughts, if such, too far apart to share
and if our differences are night and day
it doesn’t mean to say there’s nothing there.
I’ve seen his children’s cooked hands on a plate,
palm upwards as in prayer, articulate.
© Geoffrey Leggett
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- a perspective: figures on US deaths
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- Lost Species poem 19: Geoffrey Leggett
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- from the Ragbag, January 13th
- Lost Species poem 16: Shirley Wright
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