The Playground

The playground stands beside itself
In grey, and waits upon the hill.
The books are stones upon the shelf,
Their spines are sealed against the chill.

Still, the forgotten souls might try
To steal away, when light of day
Recedes, and float upon a sigh,
To climb the hill in search of play.

They leave the wiser souls below,
Ignore the cries for them to stay.
They try to reach the top although
Their infant legs have worn away.

 

Awaiting Revelation

Until the time is right for us to meet,
I layer flesh across a hollow bride
Within a cloud of words that sing defeat.

The framework hides behind a darkened sheet,
Uncovered slowly, trembling hands divide
Until the time is right for us to meet.

The bones of trees can form us each a seat
To rest upon, to wait alone, and glide
Within a cloud of words that sing defeat.

I try to see the speed increase with heat
From fuel I burn; the clock revolves inside,
Until the time is right for us to meet.

Impatience tempts; the glimmering and sweet
River of meaning shows its single side
Within a cloud of words that sing defeat.

I know the water brings a true deceit;
My oars are dammed, to break or halt the tide,
Until the time is right for us to meet,
Within a cloud of words that sing defeat.

 

When Silence Creeps about My Head

When silence creeps about my head,
I lose the moment’s loose embrace
And find another world instead,
More real to me than any place.

I tread along uncertain ground
While serpents writhe beneath my feet.
Relief awaits the straying hound
Who stayed too long within the heat.

And soon I will forget my fears,
And rest within this timeless space,
Surrendering to dreams that steer
A path I cannot hope to trace.

 

The River Villanelle

The river rides out hard to meet each day,
Although its twisted route is filled with pain,
The noble water will not ever stray.

Its only bed is caked with deathly grey,
Without a rest it chants the long refrain;
The river rides out hard to meet each day.

With tireless faith the milling currents pray,
The ancient banks will take the constant strain.
The noble water will not ever stray.

The endless journey starts without delay,
Across its rotting, foul and dark domain,
The river rides out hard to meet each day.

Its bloated body swells with cold decay.
Despite the lack of sweet and cleansing rain,
The noble water will not ever stray.

Although its friends are few and never stay,
And while it seems as though its gone insane,
The river rides out hard to meet each day,
The noble water will not ever stray.

 

Samuel East is a student and poet living in South London, England.

These poems are among the entries for the Society of Classical Poets’ 2012 Poetry Competition.

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