A biblical saying never set down; come unto me for I am as full of
contradictions as you.  Tomas Transtromer

Tremulous letters, almost breaking, her voice; his, their changing timbre,
so close as to be indistinguishable, accumulative, page after page;
blue ink, then black.

The inconvenience of mud, a day’s importunity ploughing north,
wait for time to pass.
He waits, the peacock leaves.

Cold-term stumble as frost smears night, hours pass, bright stars
shine-east, a wind bites a frozen tree, flash- lightening charge,
the cardiac-channel.

You hear silkworms whisper at night, insomnia. You turn on the radio, music.
You sleep again. Dreaming, you pass a frontier; the end, less-than-nothing.


Where but to think is to be full of sorrow.    John Keats

Sad world, I say; no one believes.
The satisfied moment draws curtains.
No one thinks. They are happy, I see all the happy people.
Who is full of sorrow?

All fall down, winds push clouds around; glossy north, diamond drizzle;
grey, the silent inquisitor arrives.
We visit graves, our clown stumbles, we wait for God and shiver.


Kneaded in equanimity, people, my neighbour,
daily eat their bread. No one wants to be ash.    Peter Huchel

He used to speak now he’s told; listen to the same song.

Beyond the gates, they tell her; work frees.

No love, all pain, hide thought on scraps.
Eat scraps; drink drops, crackling messages forged on the wire.

Witness the gathering of 12,000 children in the cycle-field.

The rain falls, thunder glooms, the dog without bone shrivels,
dies on the wild side.

Far off in another world hear a crack, no place to rest, everywhere to be.

A blue freight train leaves town, a white light shatters the mirror.

Quiet, don’t you hear a smoked out song.

He needs to hold time, late as it is, how can he hold?

Across the foam strings playing and one note saying; this is the end.

He’s vanished into tomorrow’s vacancy.

Colin Campbell Robinson

If you have any comments on this poem,  Colin Campbell Robinson  would be pleased to hear from you.