Chant du Cygne
November is notoriously
contrary, but this delicious afternoon
I headed for the beach. You’d not suppose
that marching to the tide-edge, preceded
by a fifty-kilo brute buck-leaping backwards,
would trigger musing.
But as he sniffs my pocket, woofs
and circles, frantic to play fetch,
I find myself by chance upon a busman’s
and, scanning sea and shoreline, seek
an image, insight worth my while to work.
But worthwhile you might argue is contingent
for, tilting from the light, I hollow,
conscious in a heart-gripe that I witness
the old year’s chant du cygne.
And it’s not half a pang to self from season,
from autumn’s brazen flourish
to…a fresh barrage of disaffected woofs.
“We set out to make the most
of what this moment offers,
not drag clouds that haven’t formed
across the sun. Now, for both our sakes,
refocus on the game plan.
And throw the bloody ball.”
ABOUT THE POET
Daniel P. Stokes has published poetry widely in literary magazines in Ireland, Britain, the U.S.A, Canada and Asia, and has won several poetry prizes. He has written three stage plays which have been professionally produced in Dublin, London and at the Edinburgh Festival.
