Three Poems

poem 1:Voices

his hands
move devastating; fluid - responsible for nothing.

delicate, with fire for fingers, he held my shoulder:
calling my name in the deserted street; holding me so tightly and calling my
name… the silver streetlight reflecting off the rain-glaze… he can see my
soul, hazy, for he touches me with fingers like wet sand… I could talk to him
for ever, and he would never hear my words, for his language is transient and
only in action. I can see his eyes, but they are of silence only, and his
ghost-silver irises are dazzling like fireflies.

he speaks for a nation of emptiness.

poem 2:A moment in a sandstorm

Plunder my desire, I said _ steal my soul -

Terrify me.

Silence me.

Lay waste, among black roses.

You nodded, secret, and held my fingertips.

poem 3:fury

Yesterday he wrote his name on my back,

Dangerous and sinister, he made me turn to face him, to
trace it again on my cracked and open lips -

calling to me, thunderous and luminous,

I couldn't help but notice him.

Jess McCabe

If you've any comments on these poems, Jess McCabe would be pleased to hear from you.