Desert Songs

Feeling very low, as befits the time of year. These poems say it all:

Now back from a quarter’s psychosis

I’m seeing a gloomy prognosis

On the year’s shortest day

I nocturnally pray:

Convert in the dark by osmosis


According to a poem by John Donne, the shortest day is called “St Lucy’s Day”.


Appears to be a depth in me

That no-one else can hear or see

I cry and cry, but no reply

The sun beyond the desert sky


Confronting this rift in my soul

Don’t know what it is to be whole

Torn in three directions

I’m patchworked in sections

This coat, multi-coloured, this stole



Engaging the whole of my brain

It’s a wonder the vessels don’t sprain

the viscera quivering

pen in hand shivering

trying to make one human stain

Engagement her is to be thought of on the French sense. The “human stain” is a reference to a novel by Philip Roth

which does not, however, have much to do with the poem.

Going to do a solstice ceremony later.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s