Two Poems by Philip Berry
Even shadows have colour
1.
Before a bright moon you throw black shapes onto the hill
But even shadows have colour, the new art insists, so I kneel
Drop my palm onto the space you will leave, and break
The cold blades stiffened by an advancing frost.
There is no colour.
2.
Under a naked sun that pressed our backs and licked our necks
You threw stolen milk bottles into the blinding sky
And didn’t even bother to watch the collapsing glass
Or the pale spreading explosions that covered the road.
I turned away, disgusted.
3.
In that moment I understood. Moments mean nothing
To you. The journeys we have shared, in word, image
Or thought or sound will never force you to pause
Or stay your hand at youth's final, desperate gate.
The Guardian of Borges’ Island
Yesterday you stepped onto my island. A six toed imprint survived to the tide.
I passed a finger through it. You bled fresh water, the freshest I have tasted.
I slept in the circular ruin, high on the cliff, regretting my decision at the 4 o'clock nadir.
But the first flat sun lit up the shore, and I watched out for you patiently.
I missed the moment of separation, when the sea broke over your ludic back.
(Bored, I was busy talking to a mite.) Then you rose, a stout pillared Neptune.
I counted every trudge, appreciated the distance between, marvelled at the speed
coiled within. Then, looking up, you spotted the broken wall, and I gasped.
By the time you made the ruin I was hidden in sweet pine. Sap held me to the bark.
If I tried to slip down, a thousand short strings pulled me back.
They released me at the moment of maximum vulnerability. I stood over your sleeping form, weightless in the burned detritus. I played the maze that overran your equine
shoulder. I believe you saw me, my edges anyway, shifting with each breath against the numberless needles. Your lids parted, the membranes beneath inflamed by brine.
I had time to count your toes. There were only five on each foot. I was disappointed. I had hoped for someone truly unique. Afterwards, I closed your eyes.
…………………………….
Philip Berry's poems have appeared in Lucent Dreaming, Little Dog Poetry, The Healing Muse, Black Bough and Easy Street among others. He also writes short fiction and flash.
www.philberrycreative.wordpress.com
@philaberry