The Silent Old Man – Billy Loving

Body bent and twisted 

Gnarled fingers gripping his cane 

Face weathered with age 

An old man enters the bar 

Perching himself upon the barstool 

Ordering a drink from the bartender 

Silently he sips one after another 

As the time ticks away 

Glazed eyes staring into nowhere 

I watched expectantly 

If only, his mind I could read 

What magnificent stories would lie within? 

Too late, I’ll never know 

As he wobbles out the door 

Disappointedly, I take a gulp 

And think of what might have been

Especially When The October Wind – Dylan Thomas

Especially when the October wind 

With frosty fingers punishes my hair, 

Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire 

And cast a shadow crab upon the land, 

By the sea’s side, hearing the noise of birds, 

Hearing the raven cough in winter sticks, 

My busy heart who shudders as she talks 

Sheds the syllabic blood and drains her words. 
Shut, too, in a tower of words, I mark 

On the horizon walking like the trees 

The wordy shapes of women, and the rows 

Of the star-gestured children in the park. 

Some let me make you of the vowelled beeches, 

Some of the oaken voices, from the roots 

Of many a thorny shire tell you notes, 

Some let me make you of the water’s speeches. 
Behind a pot of ferns the wagging clock 

Tells me the hour’s word, the neural meaning 

Flies on the shafted disk, declaims the morning 

And tells the windy weather in the cock. 

Some let me make you of the meadow’s signs; 

The signal grass that tells me all I know 

Breaks with the wormy winter through the eye. 

Some let me tell you of the raven’s sins. 
Especially when the October wind 

(Some let me make you of autumnal spells, 

The spider-tongued, and the loud hill of Wales) 

With fists of turnips punishes the land, 

Some let me make you of the heartless words. 

The heart is drained that, spelling in the scurry 

Of chemic blood, warned of the coming fury. 

By the sea’s side hear the dark-vowelled birds.