Blame
I knew a man who searched for it for years, searched
everywhere
pored over politics, economics, read history and stats,
thumbed genealogy
exhumed parish records, trudged sodden churchyards,
navigated ruins
peered deep into the past to demonstrate nothing was
down to him
and when he found another proof his fate was none
of his own making
his eyes would close and a thin smile would release
a knowing sigh
he shared at badly-run meetings in cold village halls
and rank gymnasia
where all present agreed the problems couldn’t result
from their own actions
that the injustices they suffered came from the prejudice
and discrimination
of overpaid self-seeking time-servers they’d never liked
and never met
and he cast this forward into the future with predictions
of further injury
then sat arms folded, convinced no-one was listening,
wronged yet again.
© Michael Curtis
CHAOS PENDULUM
To contest certainty
inside the cathedral
chaos has been installed
in a simple machine
flying freehold
water flows
to the centre of a beam
that then tips to let it out.
Which way will it go?
the poster wonders
assuming ignorance
will test our equilibrium
this work of art
descending to science
to shake our convictions
and make its point.
What made it tip this way?
God is present here
in word and sacrament
the leaflet tells us
sounding confident –
but posing questions
without an answer
opens other windows.
The pendulum swings
past marble monuments
tableaux and mausoleums
of rich benefactors
slipping
through the wide eye
of the needle
tipping into chaos?
© Michael Curtis
Domicile
All that night I’d argued
with the unrepentant owl
and by morning we’d agreed
to disagree, but I was surprised
when sunrise over the castle
sucked up any thought of sleep,
skimming the tip of a steeple
on a slow burn of pixels
so I moved inside to wash up
and forget my loosening anger,
the promises I couldn’t keep,
and didn’t try to stop
the last warmth of my father
slipping from my shoulders,
didn’t attempt to defend
the faded songs of my mother
and right to the end
couldn’t think what I’d become,
told wife, sons, correspondents,
my oldest friends
this had always been my name,
my way of talking, politics, team,
dodged reunions, downsized, shifted
my domicile to an unlisted home.
© Michael Curtis
© Michael Curtis
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