|
Les Prescott
I am a Scotsman living, performing and writing in Berlin. I spend most of my time in a cottage on a tiny island on the outskirts of the city where most of my work is
written or conceived.
Auli´s Place
Clocks at Auli´s place
dont tick on walls or wrists;
her time´s the hand you forgot,
until, with that first cup of light
and its attendent coffee
your beginning to stir
yourself awake.
And just when you think
its time to leave
she confronts you with
her little Stonehenge:
two splendid shoulders
balancing two perfect eyes.
The Visitors
A circle of light warmed the room,
not sunlight, not moonlight, but
our light, intimate as a candle.
Dodging the lights of the city
we froze in our winter socks, but
a circle of light warmed the room.
That wolfish lament was the storm outside,
but lodged in our hut we fed
on our light, intimate as a candle.
We curled up in a corner reading, reading,
and when the book was shut
a circle of light warmed the room.
Telling tales from Persia to Kerry
we sang through the night,
our light, intimate as a candle.
copyright
© Les Prescott
|