Your Poem
You asked me
to write you a poem –

I cannot

It would be too tender
                 too loving
                 too painful

                too revealing

It would tell the world
of my feelings for you –

the soul searching;

                 of all my love

No
I cannot write you a poem


©  Bernard Walker 1987
from his collection Streetpoet

Obsessions

I
The white doves
are sleeping
on the breath of
            windswept oleander.
Twin stars encompass
the moon's wavering
and I am at peace
with myself.

I have seen
            naked bathers
dressed for dinner
            know their
secret appetite
their obsession
with the sea
the sun
            each other,
they have no secrets
from the moon.

Native girls have
served their enemies
with delicious poisons,
hoping they will
suffocate
in their dreams
yet re-appear
for breakfast and
the snake's feast.

Girls who whisper
to each other
choosing men for
their beds
and others
for the gallows.

II
Down in the harbour
sisters sit
extracting love
from the child
who belonged to one
and not the other.
Caressed and kissed
and fondled in
extremis – loved
and responding
to love
beyond care
and submission

Students
feeling as free
as the night moth
alighting
on their lovers
by the quayside;
the beacon
warning of disaster
in the
wayward surf.


©  Bernard Walker 1990
from his collection Stara Fuzina
written in Solvenia

Stara Fuzina
A shimmering lake
edged its shores
with wildflowers
and
the midnight sleep
of frogs.

The wild iris of
Bohinj
led us to its secrets
and the scree slope −
neverending
into underwater worlds,
submerged
mountains and invisible
paths
among clouds
and the high forest.

green lizards
and Serbs
held our gaze
and thoughts
whilst we moved
towards
Stara Fuzina

a seemingly imagined
place

where
swallows and shrikes
crossed
rivers in our tracks
and we
reached a point
of
no return.


© Bernard Walker 1990
from his collection Stara Fuzina 
written in Slovenia