[ash natural as sunsets] Ash natural as sunsets As this brook here, Nothing to fear, some say, The silence is the main aspect, And strange forever, and maybe A heaven with all hope restored; For now, it’s quiet, except for the world, Having a field day, doing its rounds, Utterly convinced of its opinions, Each green shoot, leaf, blade of grass And dewdrop full of its passion, Which proves some motion lives on In these unruly actions of a daily grind; The wind picks up, lies down to sleep, The rain visits these graves, Then leaves again for other work. It’s sunset To weep, to want to wash away fragility; Why couldn’t what was boisterously young, Running with your namesake pig in spring, Stay caught in the moment of best beauty? The thing that grows vegetables Shakes our bones out to their full height, We’re on a conveyor belt, a pulse that goes, There’s a plot and it continues, in its throes; This is God’...
POETRY, POLITICS, PROVOCATION AND POPULAR CULTURE SINCE 2005 - 20 YEARS AND over 10 million visits - British Library-archived