Awaiting the return of an old friend from Mother Nature.
Like an old friend returning from far, far away. Lessening light, growing darkness its companions. Cool wafts swath in the crystal azure vault. Later, the Giants reveal their secrets. Gifts of the rainbow speckle their family. Stop! Stay awhile. Ah! No luck there. As it dies gracefully in the long shadows, I savor its splendor like an unrequited fool. Then it is gone!
In its palace, a stark brown muddled in white overstays its welcome. Finally, cold, damp blows arrive from the lonely north, great angry gusts of wrath fighting departure.
In its place, swollen white caps in the ceiling hover as false angels chirp. Not I do you fool. They say rebirth allows the end to begin. Hmm. Then comes the fire from the searing orb. Exhale slowly, not too quick afoot. Find the brook by the meadow in the dale below. Listen. It’s is coming, Wait with me. Alas, heroic, red-streaked spears blaze in the blue, blue dome above. Like an old friend returning from far, far away.
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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