Contrasts

Within the space of ten days
My body and I have
Trodden on a volcanic island
All pumice, leeched copper and
Bands of iron ore, glimmering
Under a furnace of summer sun

Only to write these words
To the drumming rhythm
Of random English rain
Anticipating a morning journey
To the Welsh valleys
And steep sheep-bleating hillsides

Neither divorced from the sea
Where time gazing at spindrift
Flung far from wave crests
Is time well spent
Or waiting until the evening
Moonglades are illuminated

With a light within which
No crime seems possible
Its almost hypnotic stillness
Falling gently, soaking the
Good earth with
Reminders of reflected glory

And yet…flying bombs tonight
Will find their targets
Drones caressed by moonbeams
Carrying their deathnotes,
Waspy, mosquito whining drones
Heard too late, or never seen

Yes, we deep-sigh for contrasts
For headlines re-written
From volcanic fire
To bucolic peace
From hostages held too long
To cries of freedom

Ten days?
Surely that’s enough time?