“A World Where” my thirtieth and final ekphrastic poem for National Poetry Month inspired by the inspired art of Marcel Herms.
A World Where
I can’t recognise this pattern of words,
the timetables at work. I can’t make
a pattern is a world without form,
without substance, an out of focus
picture in which there maybe more
than one of me. I don’t orientate
without signposts or landmarks or signatures.
All is blur. Meaning elusive.
If I make it could be false. There is grief
at a loss of shape, of pattern.
A gallery of random words and pictures
I can reshuffle so every time a picture
has different words, words you can apply
to any other picture. The application of shape
more meaningful perhaps. As we can’t say
when someone close will leave this earth.
Port of Souls is found landlocked sometimes.
Like marrow locked inside a bone, at other
Times it is a small island surrounded
by a repetition of water. Occasionally after
so many have passed into memory,
a port of souls occupies our inside.