Poetry Blogs (Pan)

And There She Goes……A Coward,
Down The Winding Stairs.
Exactly What He Expects.
That’s Me And The Girl Is You Inside The Mirror.
Frozen Fall Statues, Like Suicidal Images.
And In Every Home A Fire And Bread,
In Every Yard A Murder.
Upon The Pages A Blood Red
Of Bullets By His Head.
At Any Rate, The Plants Alive.
It’s Only Decent To Die.
They Oblige To Sedate………
If There’s A Choice, The...

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No sooner had we landed when, at a loss,
we struck out for the islands. not by airplane –
wheels on the shallows – but in the drink, again
cast off into the Med, each a Pangloss –
ebulliance deranged – sailed for Paxos,
island of the  shotgun, Easter rain
whose white chalk gulleys and a firefly lane
lit us home through the olive alleys, moss.

O’Hara was right to remind us of Pan,
the gr...

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