The God's Eye - coverTwo poems from

The God’s Eye

A new anthology compiled and edited
by Emmanuel Williams

 

The anthology can be ordered directly
from Emmanuel Williams

[Read more poems at SICA International]

The God's Eye

by Devreaux Baker

You say you could die happy
in this chair in the garden
A green wicker filled
with secret spiders and moss
You say you could grow old
conjure blossoms out of your body
become a white storm of petals
filled with rain
The spiders are fearless gods
filled with miles of silk thread
weaving their own abstract world
beneath your sleeping body
You are sliding past those gossamer shapes
falling like an Alice
tumbling in the tunnel beneath the chair
scraping your shoulders and knees
sliding into the heart of bamboo
green and red and black columns
all dreaming of future lives
as garden chairs
tumbling past workers
with bodies like children
harvesting miles of bamboo
whacking and stacking and drying
the slender trees
No one sees you slipping past
into the dark aorta of earth
falling out of the chair
until you become an echo
in the mind of a spider
The tiny figure of the man
you once were
falling and falling
a whisper she weaves in
as a God’s Eye
in the center of her web

[themify_hr color=”light-gray” width=”100%” border_width=”1 px” ]

On November 14, 2013 Sharifin Gardiner wrote that Kadarijah had passed over peacefully in her sleep at 12:10 (UK time) at the St Peter and St James Hospice. The room, he added, was full of flowers and a great feeling of peace.

Dying by Degrees

by Kadarijah Gardiner
Kadarijah’s pensées 10-Dec 2010

“Take your time,
Slow if you please
Take your time.
Take it with ease.”
This song from my youth
Has wisdom yet,
And “yet” has wisdom too.
For time is running out
I felt it, I feel it through
My fingers’ very fiber.
I enjoy the sound of his breathing
Beside me on the bed.
Exhausted he is by the shock
Of seeing me, feeling me, so near collapse.
I’ll be still, with the weight of the tray on my knees,
But no weight in my heart,
Just the knowledge that I’m still here
That’s weight enough, God knows.
Weight enough for me to sleep.
Reading Eliot’s Little Gidding together
Was a link to life and a taste of heaven,
Both world and senses linked.
My veins are in a sort of recovering shock still.
An odd feeling when I move, or if I don’t.
I sense their independent life.
Are they wondering what’s happened?
Did they think their work was done?
That they could “knock off” now?
But oh, I see is that why I am still to go on?
For if I stopped and went into the beyond,
They wouldn’t.
So they keep on working,
Always working for more than
Eighty years!
Poor things, all of them
The veins, tissues, arteries, lungs heart and all of them,
I don’t blame you for conking out occasionally
But you see, we will have to move on soon
So we had better (much better!) sort ourselves out
Now and get to our proper place, all of us
So we can really “go home” all of us, by
God’s Almighty Grace.