THE HOUSE OF BREAD

O little town of Bethlehem
How restless we see thee die
Above thy troubled and nightmare sleep
The growling gun ships go by
In thy dark streets once shone
The Everlasting light.
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are still met in thee tonight.

O holy child of Bethlehem
Return to us we pray
In bright clouds of glory
Come again today.
We no longer hear the angels,
Their message now dulled and silent.
But come to us
O Lord Emmanuel.

Two opposites
Met that night
Where worlds end
and I with dragons fight.
The mind in torment
Intent on destroying
The destroyed.

Around me the twentieth century
Wraps me safe.
I watch the others, God's chosen,
Greeting each other.
Shrugging off the present time
To dress in shawls
And caps and tradition.
Performing ancient rites,
Fulfilling promises,
Sealing the next generation
With knife and prayers.

POLYTHENE

Your flat, twisted body
Is suddenly filled.
Snatched by wind-breath:
You fly. High.
Clowning with the busy air.
Enjoying opportunities
To be new and different.
Out of breath,
Your energy falters.
Fluttering awkwardly
In the finale of your
Cavorting metamorphosis,
You meet the road
Where passing wheels
Finish you.

LA GUERRE

La guerre avec les fanfares,
Les sonneries des clairons
Avec la promesse de la victoire.
Les soldats avec leur patriotisme.
Les drapeaux et les couleurs;
Le rouge pour le sang,
La bleu pour la mer
Et le blanc?
Et le blanc
Pour la redition.
Et les morts?
Ou sont les morts?
Seul dans la terre froide;
Sans le sang,
Sans la mer,
Sans la redition,
Sans la vie.
Les drapeaux‚ taient en lambeaux
Et les clairons se tairons.
Et la guerre?
La guerre vivre.
Nous avons oublie.

KNITTING

It took a whole year
To knit the piece.
Loving stitches
Interlinked by events of
Dizzy, dancing colours,
Explosions of sheer joy;
Emotions stretched and broken.
Now it is finished, unexpectedly.
A decision to pull
These last stitches
Would unravel that carefree year
Into a tangled heap
Of grey confused anger.
Or instead, tie the loose ends
And preserve it,
As a rainbow of memories,
To warm a cold heart.

SEVEN FOUR SEVEN

I saw you
Shining above me,
Thrusting across my sky;
Scratching the perfect blue
With your white lines
Of trailing exhaust.
Where are you going
Boeing?

 BOSNIA : BSE : DISASTER : MOORS : TEN FOUR RUBBER DUCK, COME BACK! 

All poems and photographs [unless otherwise acknowledged] 
 © Bryce Cooke  All rights reserved