Two Poems by Roddy Williams

I am made to stop

Sometimes I am stunned to numb
by this rush of men unleashed upon the street
from the dogmatic pound
I am made to stop
while the world revolves about me
pedalled by their raw paw force

I am made to growl
with a longing for belonging
that owes nothing to
our words and letters
our caged meanings
the weak printed definitions of things

And I am made to weep
for the loss of my animal grace
that my hands
are not those real scarred
bringers of bliss or death
that pass me in the whirl
clicking and waving in the storm
like branches from the old woods


The Moth

I wonder who
is listening to Radio Three apart from me?

Cuban laments and Bach’s solo cello this afternoon
I am focused on the wings beating panic
at the pane of glass width away from rain
I raise the window a little
make the decision his

His memory stays fluttering like a nag at something
in time with the Cubans
hurting itself leaving dust
imaginary soft percussion added by
single raindrops missing each other
on a window

I wonder whether I should
leave the window open

just in case

but am distracted by the cello
the wordless pain
keening its curiosity as to who
is listening to Radio Three

apart from me

 

Originally from North Wales, Roddy Williams now lives in London. His poetry has appeared in ‘The North’, ‘The Frogmore Papers’, ‘Magma’, ‘The Rialto’, ‘Envoi’, ‘Stand’ and other magazines and anthologies. He is also a keen surrealist photographer, printmaker and painter.

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