Incommunique

This poem represents one of those odd little intersections in my life which I enjoy so much, it’s read out at one of Landmark Education’s courses. But it’s a poem that speaks for itself.

So far male poets have dominated my selections, I’m not sure how that happened but I promise to remedy it with the next poem. Have a favourite female poet? Let me know in the comments below.


Of Mere Being

The palm at the end of the mind,
Beyond the last thought, rises
In the bronze distance.

A gold-feathered bird
Sings in the palm, without human meaning,
Without human feeling, a foreign song.

You know then that it is not the reason
That makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine.

The palm stands on the edge of space.
The wind moves slowly in the branches.
The bird’s fire-fangled feathers dangle down.