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“A song of Junes
in a June of songs”


Irony and complexity are great literary attributes that many a reader, including myself, has enjoyed down through the ages. . . but on the other hand I sometimes crave, by way of contrast, a direct, straight-forward expression, something childlike in its simplicity, without stylistic frills or subtle hinting or obscure literary references in foreign languages like those used by many poets of different periods to try to impress! There are times I wish only to express something so simple that even a child would understand it, or even a cynical old person might find something in it to touch them. This was a poem I attempted while in such a mood: it takes the traditional form of the bard or storyteller, perhaps sat around a camp-fire with some friends, strumming lightly on his guitar or a harp for accompaniment as he describes the meeting of two lovers. . .


The Song of Strangers

Simon Rees


A song of Junes
in a June of songs
sounded the strings
of each theme and thread of day,
like streams in the sunlight
knowing not where rain won't freeze
except in the arms of love.

It sang of one who wept
as the tide of his life gathered momentum within him,
for no longer could he sit like the shore,
except when the sea exiled a wave at its edge;
and of another who came into day
as though black, from night,
both admiring and pitying
each person she saw from her twilit vantage;
and of an evening on a stony track
when she stumbled up to the man,
who was weeping into the muddy ruts at the wayside,
and how he looked up tearful
with the song of day in his fiery pastel eyes
as she smiled,
sharing in a look the sacred absurdity
of all that would end, not lit up, that night.

Then the song of strangers
grew softer yet
as their tears touched together in a dip,
pausing in the moment that their stillness
began to gaze up reflected from the salty residue
at each of them the same,
like the dew which gathers
on every open petal.

 

 

© Copyright 2007 Simon Rees

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