Free Collected Poems by Alan; Sillitoe Page B

habits.

THISTLES
    Thistles grow in spite of flowers,
    Brittle taproots drawing succour till the autumn.
    Seeds flop from the hedge
    And at puberty suck their fill by beans and carrots.
    Entrenching blade hacks soil,
    And fingers under thistle-spikes grip,
    And easily out it’s tossed to the sun’s bake.
    A dry and useless thistle pricks –
    Fingers gather and inflate with pus:
    For weeks the memory of pain.

RELEASE
    Flowers wilt, leaves feloniously snatched,
    Birds sucked away – autumn happens.
    Frenetic bluebottles saw the air.
    Blackberries scratch with poison.
    Love is taken before knowing the mistake.
    The last thief grins
    At the look of life.
    There are many, so who cares?
    The trap is a loaded crossbow,
    Ratchet-pulley sinewed back
    From birth and set in wait.
    None walk upright from the bolt’s release.

LEFT HANDED
    The left hand guards my life.
    I use. It uses. Sinister
    Alliances shape plans.
    Left hand is fed by the heart
    Strategically engined
    Between brain and fingers,
    Sometimes filtering intelligence.
    The left eye is in line with hand
    And pen. The left lung
    Rotted when I tried the right:
    Lesson one was spitting blood.
    Vulnerable left side lives in harmony
    And liberates the rules,
    Rides monsters who fear to eat themselves,
    So do not bite.

NEW MOON
    Since men have waved flags on her
    Classified geology with peacock colours
    Sent cameras probing every angle
    The moon has turned lesbian;
    Shows brighter now in her woman hunger
    Goes with purpose to her lover
    In the Milky Way, nothing more from earth
    Yet better by far than shining palely
    A mirror for courtiers to gawp at –
    And that stricken poet who ached
    In her unrequiting love but now is free.

OPHELIA
    When Ophelia lay a finger on the water
    The cold and shallow brook scorched flesh.
    She pulled it back.
    The fire was love.
    She was forget-me-not’s daughter,
    Each eye a pond of flowers.
    She climbed the arching cliff
    Where water sent its clouds of salt,
    Luminous across the sun.
    The nunnery was found:
    No one saw her body spin.
    A lunar sea-change sent it cleanly in.

ALIOTH THE BIGOT
    A bigot walks fast.
    Get out of the way
    Or walk faster.
    He walked faster too
    Veered right
    To evade me.
    I increased my rate
    Hinging left to avoid
    The fire in his eyes.
    Collisionable material
    Should not promenade
    On the same street.
    We muttered sorry
    Then went on
    More speedily than ever.

CHANGING COURSE
    Down the slope to the horizon
    Fix the black-dot sun before departure.
    When the day sets at the storm’s end
    Far along the moonbeams that flow in,
    Shut the barometer, hang the watch away
    Lay the sextant in its box.
    How deep the valley which enclosed
    The lifeboat washed against the shore.
    The heart says goodnight at dawn,
    And hopes the dark is best
    Which fears the day to come.

ON FIRST SEEING JERUSALEM
    The way to knowing is to know
    How useless to talk of hills and colours
    Looking at Jerusalem.
    To know is to keep silent
    Yet in silence
    One no longer knows;
    Can never unknow what was known
    Or let silence slaughter reason.
    One knows, and always knows
    Unable to believe silence
    A better way of knowing.
    One sees Jerusalem, knows
    Yet does not, comes to life
    And knows that walls outlast whoever watches.
    The Temple was destroyed: one knows for sure.
    One joins the multitude and grieves.
    Knows it from within.
    One does not know. Let me see you
    Everyday as if for the first time
    Then I’ll know more:
    Which already has been said
    By wanderers who, coming home,
    Regret the loss of that first vision.
    The dust that knew it once is mute.
    Stones that know stay warm and silent.
    From pale dry hills I watch Jerusalem,
    Make silence with the stones:
    An ever-new arrival.

NAILS
    Tel Aviv is built on sand:
    Sand spills from a broken paving stone
    And sandals cannot tread it back;
    Waves beat threateningly
    A sea to flow through traffic
    Climb hills and wash Jerusalem.
    Every white-eyed speckle of its