Go back

                                                                                                Allen McGill

   

Rain

The sound
and smell of rain
on summer grass reminds
me of the days we’d trudge along
the dunes.

Enwrapped
in yellow slicks,
and hand in hand, we faced
the darkened sea, wind playing with
our hair.

We’d watch
the lightning flash
through charcoal clouds above
the ocean waves, and run when they
came close.

Sand hills
were steep—we slipped
and fell—our laughter slowed
us more until we made our way
back home.

   

Liquid Light

Colors
burst forth in dark
cool shade as orchids bloom
and cling to branches high and low
like flares.

The air
so moisture-laden washes all
and feeds the lichen, moss
and dangling roots
like soil.

Lush leaves
of every shape
reflect the next and sluice
the never-ending flow of drops
to earth.

A beam
of sun descends from high for just
a moment, warm and bright,
creating brief
rainbows.

   

So Quickly Gone

So young
and spry we were
and life so fresh and new;
it seemed as if our youth would last
through time.

Back then
we always looked
ahead, no glance behind,
and never dreamt the past would catch
us now.

So fast
it all passed by,
the life we shared so quick
to end—but pause—and I will join
you soon.

   

Eternal

So modestly draped in the purest
white marble the maiden averts
her eyes from the come hither
glance of the naked male youth
on the pedestal nearest
the door.

Though he hailed from Athens
and she came from Crete
they had sailed from Pireaus together—
disembarked in Southampton
transported in crates to Lord Elgin’s
Grecian marble display.

There is constant dissent:
the Greeks want them back
with the Marbles, so blatantly
shown in the cavernous halls
of Victoria and Albert’s
Museum in London.

The Greeks say ‘they’re ours’
but the Brits say ‘no way.’
The arguments never will end
leaving plenty of time for the
young man to grin and the girl to
coquettishly flirt.

   

Alone

Beyond
the streaked
unwashed window
a bleak road curves
uncaring
from view.

Old now
she sits and watches
with unfocused eyes
from habit
not interest
or expectation
one hand atop the other.

Memories
aged beyond use
no longer disturb
her lethargy—
vague images
faded with time.

A young man
walked there
once

gold braid

someone

once
gold braid

someone
once

   

                                                                                                © Allen McGill

triple rule

Loch Raven Review Fall 2005 — Vol. I, No. 1
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