Triads

The London post . . .

Enter the Halls of the Kingdom
by Kenneth Durham Smith
– after George Mackay Brown

The first is the skeleton of a whale
carried up beyond the reach of tide
A floor of dry sand and kelp
that whispers like paper
the walls desiccated skin stretched
between the arching ribs
This is a hall for crawling through
til birthed like Jonah on a foreign shore

The second is the wreck of a ship
hull up to the sky, long from the sea
The planking drilled through
by beams of light, and eaten
by lichen, fungus and moss,
the slowest moving waves,
the darkness a home for toads
This is a hall for laments,
for the fish that died in the holds,
the men swept from the decks,
and the long days drowned in the wake

The third is the ruin of the Laird’s house,
the walls massive stones that surround
the wreck left as the roof
took out all the floors below
A well of light and glittering rain
received from an endless open sky
This is a hall for dancing,
home to linnet, lark, and nightjar
dry cough of fox, croak of owl

The Seattle riposte . . .

Nocturne
by David Keith Johnson

Faces? No.
Shadows
slipping through the blue world
where only the moon glows.
Stop to greet them on the blue walk
or try to pin them to the blue grasses
in vain. They have no time for talk.
The night made them, and the night passes.
Yet, at sunrise, when you see faces at last,
but faces only
without shadows, then
you may be lonely.

Houses? No.
Lights, only lights.
Squinting through your window
from daredevil heights,
you strain to identify them, so far below.
What are they? Dreams on fire?
One by one, row on row,
curving in all directions to the horizon;
What are they? You want to know?
When night fades, you’ll see they are houses only,
houses without lights. Be patient then,
for then you could be lonely.

Dreams? No.
Silence
without echoes, without ashes,
the collapse of experience
into comfort that only the night gives.
But the night passes,
and once you have stirred
and the dreadful violence has occurred,
then there are ashes and echoes without end,
then there are ashes and echoes only.
You may rely on it then,
you will be lonely.