November 11, 2020 – Poetry Life and Times

get on with life in whatever hapless fate befalls us in this evanescent scenario of existence though our whatever stance may be absurd nevertheless grasp with final strength at the word sign of life in what's been left as the millennium tilts beyond the controle we can circumstantiate there are those who believe we can be uploaded into a cloud eternal information ether & the planet will slip away as we all become timeless satellites in infinite space so let the planet be consumed by the flames of hell we're gonna be transported into a silicon heaven even if we happen to be no more than a cartoon simulation the cosmic joke to escape extinction the last gnostic hope of salvation from the failed demi urge creation meanwhile we have surveillance capitalism the greed of corporations as super powers wage wars of economy as if should this anthropocentric creature quit the planet life won't go on but it will & it won't be uploaded in a cloud but simply create new cultural non human life forms of communication where hopefully animal life won't be bred for daily slaughter to feed our rapacious stomachs in the name of the economy

all these years on
& i've given up on reflections
such as the origins of human madness
the limits of what we are beyond our controle
& suddenly	as often happens nowadays
i flashback to a dangerous rushing stream
tumbling & cold	i remember
the water is green	white		deep

a slither of a stripped tree trunk straddles
the sheer sided banks		
a few strides & a skip
to cross which all in the bleak grey stone village
must	old or young	strong  weak or sick
to enter onto its sparse barren ground

i am alone	i see no one
even the tree spar looks slippery	shiny
bent with an undersway to the tug of the flow
a fatal slip & i'm gone	i could go on
but i cross	
a few strides & a skip
i come to the first stone dwelling place
the ground is hard  & arid		i pass the front dyke space
to enter without a door 
the burnt earthen floor room in its dim half light	
                                        i don't remember how

there's what looks like a built up large sink
made of stone & shingle & in it half submerged
in clear cold water	small white turnips

it's his only fare	we stare at each other
he is tall thin gaunt with long white hair & beard
clad in a brown home spun gown & cord sandals
he goes to the sink & offers me a soaked turnip

is this me in another life time		could i live
this life day in        day out	

tonight i will sleep out for i cannot stay	
                                      we have not spoken a word

i eat the turnip		his only nourishment
& leave as suddenly as i came	        to a memory
which now hinges on a dream	        as though
a desert wind should move a dune	where
you wake to find what you left behind is beyond you still

Robin Ouzman Hislop is on line Editor at Poetry Life & Times at Artvilla.com. His numerous appearances include Cold Mountain Review (Appalachian University, N.Carolina), The Honest Ulsterman, Cratera No 3 and Aquillrelle’s Best. His publications are collected poems All the Babble of the Souk, Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals & Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems. A translation from Spanish of poems by Guadalupe Grande Key of Mist and Carmen Crespo Tesserae, the award winning (X111 Premio César Simón De Poesía), in November 2017 these works were presented in a live performance at The International Writer’s Conference hosted by the University of Leeds. UK. A forthcoming publication of collected poems Off the Menu is expected in 2020