“All Honours Hold”
All honours hold potentials by and by,
The none of knows for whom
The season’s signs appear each day. How soon
The eagle’s call to arms removes all eyes to the skies
And far beyond; and something in eternity will signal
Deep within the old bull’s hour. This time he simply turns to leave
Through clouds and clods, the lack of spectators beneath his feet retrieve
The scents and memories of his ancient instincts; no time remains to mingle
With the cows or deal with musth along the trail to move his majesty to lands
Beyond the thinning grasses where space expands and does not shrink
For want of rain and multiples of tusks at meagre holes and bone dry sinks.
The loss of reasons dictate change when means grow less than needs demand.
And so it is in time for this Goliath; where youth once fled, now youth returns
but with a studied arrogance and impertinence and nothing left to trust:
The temples ache, the teeth are flat, and little’s left to scavengers and dust.
He sits in air too quick to breathe tonight, his words are glass,
No light strikes them; he cannot see the page.
His hours yield nothing now, sardonic age
Leaves watermarks and thought distracted by what’s been asked
When not demanded of him, years of cold neglect, and all those miles.
Still it’s not enough. If not tonight, then when?
It will out no doubt in time to catch the wind again,
And where the zephyr is yet another image, another trial.
The former summer’s thoughts have found their mark,
Is this the time for words? A second poem, a secondary fire
Lit to get it said perhaps, induce a faint desire,
One more phrase–there are so many–another candle in the dark
So much to feel, so much to taste until the thesis leaps,
With nothing conjured, nothing sealed: and all these thoughts will keep.