Kevin Saving

 

Six Epigrams

 

 

Absence

 

 

Absence can't make hearts grow fonder-

that's a poet's dismal lie.

Love -just like our eyes- can wander,

time won't serve to measure by.

Life's a tad too short to squander,

memory so soon runs dry.

 

If, within a world of sorrow,

some affection comes your way,

love today and lapse tomorrow-

we were cast from fickle clay:

everything we have, we borrow;

no one ever came to stay.

 

 

Bounce

 

 

Most human knowledge is pretence,

most 'Experts' know Jack Squat-

when we've examined evidence

'Fuck all' is all we've got.

 

God's comfort crumbs bob in our wake,

this ferry goes short-haul:

if asked what solace  we might take

I'd answer you, 'Fuck all'.

 

 

 

Shooting Match

 

 

It's politicians who make wars

as ways of saving face-

they speak of 'Honour' or 'Just cause'

and (sometimes) of 'Disgrace'

though prudence, it seems, still ensures

others die in their place.

 

The pomp and majesty of State,

the sum of corporate fears,

a 'free'-market inviolate,

a rigged assembly's cheers:

the whole damned shooting-match can't rate

one orphan's abject tears.

 

 

 

Kevin Saving © 2009

Handkerchief

 

 

A trusty keepsafe to entrap

all that which secret cavities anoint,

illuminated treasure-map

of silver lakes and rugged points-

whole continents emerge, disjoint

to one galvanic thunderclap.

At pinch, a rustic tourniquet

which (knotted) pesters memory,

wipes cum and caramel away:

like life, a spotted tapestry.

We semaphor a quaint goodbye

to those left standing on the quay,

or wipe from optics smaller fry,

or pocket tears inexpertly.

 

 

 

For all we own and are

 

 

For all we own and are,

days narrow into night.

For all we note, compare

the light and the half-light

we'll sniff the evening air

and still fall cowed, contrite.

 

For all we love and like,

foul seasons follow fair-

monsoon and earthquake strike

for all we do and dare.

And time ticks up the stair

for all we owe, and are.

 

 

 

Minotaur

 

 

King Bull, sluggish but proud,

a meadow for his court,

moves through the bovine crowd.

(His reign will prove quite short).

Though flies besiege his face

one consort's undeterred-

he grapples for his place

to rise above the herd.

 

 

 

Kevin Saving © 2009