Guest Poet Mike Simpson
Untrapped, no trappings,
Ride the metalled road
As far as she or you should go.
Passing through, we wave - why?
Because they wave at us
With un-self-conscious glee.
Brilliant shimmer, falling sun on water,
Pans of indigenous gold.
Reflection on . . .
Other people's lives - distilled.
"Where are the oysters I was promised?
Am I much longer for this world
(If I ever were)?"
Regard the menu, sir, as we
Who make no claims.
Never fail to deliver.
Tethered, yet resplendent, imperious
Beasts of the altiplano.
Masters of the 10-yard circle,
They graze and tread, unhurried.
The couple at table 3 (if so they be)
Shuffle their feet in vain.
I write only what I think I see
Laid out on the plain in front of me.
Overflows with expectation.
As spray rises up,
So droplets fall beneath.
Mike Simpson's questions:
1. The poem attempts to bring together two conflicting worlds, the altiplano
and those passing through. Do stanzas 4 or 6 acheve this, or do they appear
to you clumsy and incongruous?
2. I am not sure about the word 'indigenous', stanza 2. I am trying to suggest the gold only exists for those on the altiplano. Any ideas?
Any other suggestions/ideas/advice gratefully received.
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