Virginia and On Colville's Horse and Train
your hair falls like rain
on a nor'easter gale stirring dark cloud;
in the folds of your dress
sweeps smiles from cold commons
where familiar faces turn to seraph stone.
your heart weeps
pinned to the sleeves of willow branches
hung in sad repose
curled on lead weighed leaves
where black birds rend flesh from dawn worms.
What lessons were learnt today, Dr. Pangloss?
What lessons are ever learnt
when hard winds conspire to seize and twist souls, so?
your children sleep
chasing kaleidoscope dreams
reflected in red pools
of a whore's menstrual bath;
no nursery rhymes soothe bereft mothers,
you've too many sheep to count tonight
you've fallen in inky wells like Baghdad wives
where dreams drown in a Red Sea of hate.
your tree of knowledge bends
splits bark that recoils down hallways
exposes the cellulose of your integrity
drains out maple syrup like wasted promises of "never, never land"
causing even fragrant lilac to wither.
your hips ache with each stuttered step
as pallbearer to your future,
even as a veil of rain
crashes like bombs to wet pavement,
yield not to vulgar nature nor accept this mad cow disease, remember bleak night passes.
On Colville's Horse and Train
A dark horse races to beat the odds,
heart pounding out a rhythm, ears perked,
train whistle sings glue factory blues,
all fiddles and harmonica,
and fate blasts a horn, once, twice, at three.
His reason slips beneath chattering teeth,
stuck to gums and worn morals, he's tongue-tied,
useless pink appendage dangles from his mouth,
while nose flares passion, red hot, and lungs burst,
and parched lips suckle hope from a dripping sky.
Muscles tense, rippling the flag of hubris
that waves his colours onto the field,
he gallops into her valley like black Silver,
screaming, "Once more into the breach, dear fiends!"
Iron ribbons lace cold feet, lodestone pulled,
invisible wires curling vines snag legs,
leads to a duel of wits with catastrophe,
to alter his flat landscape forever.
O, the hazards of running against a June wind.
Her light dazzles, as do steel blue eyes,
false moonlight and shadow: and he,
tasting iron lips and coal-burning heart,
swoons swan-like and dances on metal rails;
and chomping at the bit, he rushes to greet her, there,
in smoke choked night: to crash with her runaway train.
Better to be a fool than a coward,
King of the straight and narrow,
he will not stop nor cede an inch, though
they'll scrape his carcass from the cattle guard
before tomorrow's light. Or not.
Robert K. Omura lives in Calgary, Alberta, Canada where he practices law. He is active in education, law reform, the environment and the outdoors. His fiction and poetry appears or is forthcoming in numerous literary journals, ezines and anthologies, including the Raving Dove, the Rose & Thorn, and Paradigm. His poetry aired on CBC Radio for National Poetry Month in 2008. He is currently working on a novel, but that's slow going at best.
Photo "Leaning Toward Growth" by Bella Dante.
Poems Copyright © 2008 Rob Omura. All rights reserved.
Photo Copyright © 2008 Bella Dante. All rights reserved.