Angelus Bell

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Near is very far
Space, time,
Dark star.
A black hole
For a wandering soul.

There’s a vastness that appals
White walls.

Scurrying through
The corridors
Of the Christie, this Monday morning
Meeting Emile, yes, named after Jean Jacque’s eponymous hero.
Married at the weekend, it has spread,
He fears he’ll soon be dead.
His Caribbean lilt
Echoes in my head.

We smile and laugh and joke with the nurses
As they try searching for a vein
In vain.

What else can I do?
Blue’s still
The colour of blue.




◄ Bryter Layter

Palimpsest ►


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John Marks

Wed 6th Jul 2022 14:14

Thank you for your kind words Stephen, Carol and Keith. Thank you for your likes Holden, K & Frederick.

Whoever you are, go out into the evening,
leaving your room, of which you know every bit;
your house is the last before the infinite,
whoever you are.

Rainer Maria Rilke

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Stephen Gospage

Wed 6th Jul 2022 08:27

Yes. Anyone who thinks poetry doesn't matter should read this. Great work, John.

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Carol Congalton

Wed 6th Jul 2022 00:58

A poignant narrative indeed John.

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keith jeffries

Tue 5th Jul 2022 23:05

My father was in this hospital in the 1960's with cancer of the colon and survived surgery and treatment only to die fifteen years later with cancer of the lung and gullet. I have walked through those portals and inside feel that life hangs on a thread for many who occupy the beds. Your poem is one experienced by many but those lines "His Caribbean lilt, Still echoes in my head" for some reason take it to a different dimension of a deep sense of pending loss of someone special. I hope not.
A poem in an age still cursed by cancer.
Thank you for this

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