A BALMY DAY...

 

A balmy day     there is no match 

not a single soul   

I come to the football stadium

 to wind down

on the top side of the bleachers 

near the soothing sun:

it's definitely comforting to see

 the vacant pitch the stands

not a player not a single

football-chanter

not a dicky bird.

Only the bright and trimmed lawn 

where some pigeons coo and preen 

each other in the sunshine  a few tabby cats

taking a breather in the shade.

No match no loud insults

like thunderous tannoys

Only some pigeons 

some cats 

and meself nibbling

a sandwich of twilight 

and daydreams.

             ©Hiromu Kira, The Thinker, 1930

WILD HORSES IN THE PYRENEES

 

I would like to spend my last eternity 

 with the wild horses.

Up in the high mountains where

 the sea is only a dream of clouds.

I'd like to stay there to speak no more 

like a monk in a blue grotto

and water drops slumbering

 on fern leaves.

Wild horses that run away

from the horizon to heaven.

from heaven to my shadow

grazing in the wind-kissed grass.

(1996)

WEAVING ESPARTO GRASS

 

As if solitary people weaving 

esparto grass by the moon

I weave this words by my self. 

Weave and weave into a basket

with no other aim but the beauty

 of words themselves

crafted together like the ropes

 in demijohns of wine.

I weave this words on and on.

 I am a basket case of wine

 the same wine sipped by Sappho

 when just on the verge to embrace Phaon

just on the verge...

 jumped to the void

near the Leucadian cliffs.

MY HORSE

 I had a horse who fed on jasmine sprigs.

A horse indeed: arabian, handsome, brisk.

When galloping golden rills of sweat

gave off a perfume dizzying up

the whole moors under a fickle sun.

He munched on any jasmine shrubs

this flowers for him were as delicious

as apples or sugar lumps.

The kids used to make fun of my horse

droppings that smell so good...

the mayor issued an order of never 

to sweep them up.

All was running perfect until one day

when my girlfriend took a shine to my stallion. 

They fell in love. They ran away. 

They eloped.

Six months after I received a postcard

from Glasgow. She appeared in the picture

dressed up as a famous jokey riding my horse. 

She smiled.

I wept rivers for him so elated eating

 jasmine petals out of her hands.