I was moved to upload this because of the relevance of Bugarach to the end-of-the-world prognostications for today, 21st December, 2012.


Whose rocks

burn pink

in the sunset

of a fading sky.


Conversation frozen

for one half-moment,

heads turned,

eyes narrowed,

hearts miss

a beat

In memory of ancestors

whose feet

signed this landscape.


Blood oozing

through grey-sharp crag,

sandal-sole worn

to a smooth tourist beat.


Dog-hot air

hammers down

on hatless pilgrims,


who know not what they view.


Below Cucagnan’s stony hills

a peasant sweats his labour

In a well-tended desert,

nods the time of day

at our passing.


We leave more quickly

than is polite,


for the half-shade

medieval alleys

on the hill.


A lizard flicks

his torpid way

by green pools

where, once,

a river ran,

beside the spiked bamboo,


its maritime destiny.


Julian Jordon, 2003



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