John Rickell Poems
The mountain stream
bubbling towards the sea,
silver in the evening light
crossing hills and far away.
I lay, my head close to the
dancing water its message clear,
all round chaos that is nature,
above, clouds drift white and soft,
towards the sea black clouds loom,
deer nervous as they graze.
Swans take flight across the lake,
wakes of dripping water from their feet
Otters on the shore and nature sleeps.
I cross the stream stoop to drink
hands cupped... intoxicated.
No thoughts no plans for tomorrow,
chaotic, a child-hood ...
Old Felix came and went
His business combs and buttons
Ones for nits, the others brass and cotton
To be squashed by wooden roll.
How big his feet in sagging shoes
How bowed his coat, herring bone and worn
A heavy coat, a winter coat....
In blazing June.
A poor man, a good man,