No Poems . Tony Hicks


No poems would come today
as I went to the usual places,
Or as I walked the worn old ways
just staring at the same sad faces.

But still no poems came today
no fierce fire of words burning,
So bright to lead me on my way
no ; I was left bereft and yearning.

And still no poems came today
and no matter how often I raged,
Or how my worn mind was flayed
all the words would do was fade.

But ; when all was nearly over
and at the very dying of the day,
Soft ; like the touch of a lover
finally a poem came today.


Tony Hicks

Jamaal May . Hum for The Bolt


It could of course be silk. Fifty yards or so
of the next closest thing to water to the touch,
or it could just as easily be a shaft of  wood
crumpling a man struck between spaulder and helm.
But now, with the rain making a noisy erasure
of this town, it is the flash that arrives
and leaves at nearly the same moment. It’s what I want
to be in this moment, in this doorway,
because much as I’d love to be the silk-shimmer
against the curve of anyone’s arm,
as brutal and impeccable as it’d be to soar
from a crossbow with a whistle and have a man
switch off upon my arrival, it is nothing
compared to that moment when I eat the dark,
draw shadows in quick strokes across wall
and start a tongue counting
down to thunder. That counting that says,
I am this far. I am this close.