In younger times, I’ve heard say,
The encrusted old had a better part to play.
My stiff company is too slow for you to stay long.
My weighted council, you presume, is measured all wrong.
Bah! Millions of years of evolution from a protozoan slime
And I sit here in my rancid days with an unsubtle rhyme.
I have lived for a brief second, the fierce burning of a slow fuse,
Have been charmed by love’s mysteries, pursued elusive truths,
Learned from the persistence of vision, of this brief flash
Learned that I have always been too rash.
Here I sit with an old box, my sight grows longer.
Today is blurred, thirty years thence, the vision’s stronger.
I would give you something of life’s unfolding through me,
Something of love’s eternal creativity
Something of an old man’s memory.
We would sit at a pavement hide, in camouflage, as coffee drinkers,
In our habitual place to enlarge upon the habits of other’s
Bright plumage, dull noses and careful poses.
From our table panorama we would invent a fable
For any interesting face or pocket drama.
On that skillfully outlined blue morning.
The upper window opposite had been tinted
With a glint of eclipsed expectancy.
Discarded newspaper brushed restlessly against the scene.
She arrived borne on the litter of her own triumph
Scattered a salute of pigeons and took her throne
I hailed the waiter to fetch her congratulatory coffee.
Quizzed an eyebrow at her paper trophy
Her cloaked kiss tasted of remembered passion
She dissembled with grace. I admired
The masked familiarity of her bosom
That resembled promises still to come.
This woman who had borne our child,
Grown now, had prolonged the pregnant moment
Enough, abated, allowed me to take her gift, a parchment
Illuminated with the title,
‘The Arrow of Larent’
Young thanes stood fast, spear fended,
In anger at Larent’s trespass
Driving his shod horse across harvest fields
This season’s toil unmended.
Backs still unbended from the soil tended long
Would beat Larent for this wrong-doing.
We held off not ruined him, thou mayest wonder,
Found him come to us unweaponed and without shirt.
Minded to hear his words out, thereon he would be counselled.
All counsel flew after his crow’s speaking
Of dust and spears’ glint, spied beyond by him
Of our blind north rim.
This grim labour of our distant neighbour
Rode at war spears for fear of our homes raided
Weapon-men warned, lay traps
And set arrows at this hunting pack
Forced back to their vermin’s nest, save two killed
None of our best was much hurt.
We girt Larent with the gift spear
Had no fear of its fierce point in his hands
Had clan-need of his honest protection
Had welcome for him in the warm mead halls
Knew his dread deed, his gift, made claim on us
This churned track, in latter days much used
Came known as Lanert’s Arrow.
Ever remember by this simple tale’s telling
That richer man minded better his giving.
-o-o-o-
And so she showed she treasured my treasuring of her
Showed we were part of each other’s story.
Showed that after we had loved, debated, struggled, learned,
Shared quails’ eggs, delicate salads and sleepless nights
She could still delight me.
It is growing dark here at the end of Lannet Sarrow
This old fool is cold to his thinning marrow.
Beyond the town over the north rim is the coming night
I can see dust and, on spear tips, a glint from the fading light.
