Poetry ?

Thursday, March 1st, 2018 — -2˚C / +28˚F with light snow falling @8:01 pm in Atlantic Canada —


—While rearranging my home office here, I dug through some old files and re-discovered some poetry from a while back —




one night
the sea was solid
there was a yellow cloud
heaving with the motion
of our ship
luminous, sick yellow
above a mercuric sea
– silver metallic, many jagged edges
pine tree shaped
wedges of water
continually slipped-
slid in precisely cut grooves

so detailed, so clear, so amazing
mirror polished silver stones
continually slipping
into a gelatinous base

flat surfaces
forever sliding,
as the sun went down
behind that luminous


… much too close
to the Bermuda

un soir
la mere étais solide
il y avait un nuage jaune
soulevant avec le mouvement
de notre bateau
malade, jaune lumineux
d’une mer de mercure
– métallique argenté- beaucoup ont ébréché les cales
formées par arbre de pin
de bords de l’eau
continuellemont glisser- glissées dans les cannelures
avec précision coupées

le miroir tellement détaillé, ainsi clair,
ainsi étonnant a poliles pierres argentées
glissant continuellement
dans une base gélatineuse

sufaces plates
toujours glissement,
durant couché de soleil
en derrière ce lumineux


… beaucoup trop près
de la triangle
des Bermudes.

— Jim Wellington (1970)


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From a Wandervogel


If I could see you

softly beside me

indifferent to the dust and chaos

open to the breezes which support

our eyes away from the props

of their neo-simian push button

dreams of civilization

I’d find you glowing, tingling

in the cool, living air

and moving Earth and Spring

with a sigh

I would not blink

for fear you’d disappear


If I could touch you

trembling, as my way

would be to gently take

your hand and lead you slowly

with great care

toward my world

noting to discard

whatever you believe should be

in someone else’s aura

before you know it’s me I;m changing

to fit your whim

(because I suddenly found

my universe wanting)

I would not breathe

for fear you’d shatter


If I could show you

innocent and jeweled fragments

of a hard and decaying planet

as flowers, whose infant curiosity

pushes pavement aside

and children we forgot to teach

about war

put Generals out of my mind

where they can do no harm

I would not point

you already see


If I could teach you

something which has no time

while they annihilate our bodies

we could stand here and say

how foolish

to think they could harm us

and spend  fleeting eternities

sending lights

bounding happy and secret

except to our eyes

to play like tiny fishes

dancing in each other’s hair

I would not speak

you already know


If I could hold you

as my own

I could watch the sky fall

while men run toward their bitter

and final end

and never move my eyes

away from your smile


and I can see


the fire

that turns the turbines

that move the galaxies

working through you


— © Jim Wellington (1971-ish)


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