Thursday, 25 March 2010

A Real Poem

Time to speak. We’re sitting in a circle

uttering poems in a very British

order. A lady

reads the Lord’s Prayer – a new translation

from Aramaic - and – it’s not even a poem!

Rhymes and meter missing,

as far as I can hear.

Upsetting. Right -

but the room seems to quieten -

listen - and vision

softens, blurs - as if -

kind of – hard edges turn gorgeous, creamy

and a rosy heart settles,

well, into silence.

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