Of Roots, Cut Grass ...

Of Roots, Cut Grass ...

On a high plain in Kashmir

surrounded by mountains,

in charge of a flock,

he wanders them here and there

across this changing plateau.

The days are hot, 

the nights are cold.

Moving through the old realms,

is one bell enough?

Who marches at the head?

Evening. Men 

who had promised 

craftsmanship 

sat, talked, refilled glasses,

looked out the window. 

He never speaks. 

The animals twitch with energy,

smell of death,

confront, adapt,

flow where they will.

Erasure poem, excerpted and rearranged from two short pieces of fiction: Hazel’s Haircut by Rob Swannock Fulton and Some Roots of Grass, author unknown.

Shared at Poets United's PoetryPantry #433

The Way Opened

The Way Opened

Below a pelt of thick, peaty soil

the smells of aromatic spices

mingle with oriental floral,

trees straining under the weight

of red and golden apples.

Nine mountains to the north, nine dragons

protect the island and vibrant harbour.
With the arrival of this thought
in the orange glow of the morning sun,

the departure of a hunger.

An erasure poem using lines from two pieces of fiction, The Chinese Way by Irene Tai and She Opened the Box by Rab Swannock Fulton, rearranged and intermingled.

Shared with Poets United's Poetry Pantry #432