from civilisation: a diary
the coffin wends through Charleville,
it is a rich day for rags;
we thought you painted our rosary.
little is left but the weeping of children,
spawned was your growth;
perhaps, we believe you.
that the sun is good,
the snow black as a charnel house.
there will be other gods.
'...and yet none more wonderful than man'
yours was the solstice,
the Attic sun.
Diotima: you could not survive her;
for poets there is only one giving,
now wait the drunken intruder
to wake the Christian night.
Douglas Clark/ Two poems/
Benjamin Press, 69 Hillcrest Drive, Bath BA2 1HD, UK/