Authors /
Malcolm Guite
The six days world transposing in an hour
Twenty-four seven in “the six days world,”
In endless cycles of unnerving news,
Relentlessly our restless hurts are hurled
Through empty cyber-space. Is there no muse...
A kind of tune
A kind of tune, a music everywhere
And nowhere. Love’s long lovely undersong,
A trace in time, a grace-note in the air,
Borne to us from the place where we belong...
The soul in paraphrase
A fledgling hidden in an ancient tree,
Singing unseen and darkling to the stars,
The fount and spring of meaning, just upstream
Of every utterance, unsullied, free,...
A villanelle for Easter Day
As though some heavy stone were rolled away,
You find an open door where all was closed,
Wide as an empty tomb on Easter Day....
A rondeau for Leonard Cohen
Like David’s psalm you named our pain,
And left us. But the songs remain
To search our wounds and bring us balm,
Till every song becomes a psalm,...
How to scan a poet
My doctor tells me I will need a scan;
I tap a nervous rhythm with my feet,
“Just count to five,” she says, “and then sit down....
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