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| Anthony Wade |
Standing on a stony strand somewhere south
of Rome, or perhaps it was Naples,
I listened to voices in the leaves
whispering secrets to breezes playing
among the close clustered pines
behind me, ever watching,
a gentle counterpoint
to the falling notes of the church bell
piously rung across the bay
and to the sonorous sighing
of the dark sea reaching, retreating
in the deepening dusk,
when the enormity of sea and sky,
the spangling of stars studding
the black universe fleeing beyond seeing
filled my mind with expectant awe
at the reach of the minds that
could encompass such vastness, and more,
but the bright hope then kindled
is still shadowed by a whispering mistrust.
***
of Rome, or perhaps it was Naples,
I listened to voices in the leaves
whispering secrets to breezes playing
among the close clustered pines
behind me, ever watching,
a gentle counterpoint
to the falling notes of the church bell
piously rung across the bay
and to the sonorous sighing
of the dark sea reaching, retreating
in the deepening dusk,
when the enormity of sea and sky,
the spangling of stars studding
the black universe fleeing beyond seeing
filled my mind with expectant awe
at the reach of the minds that
could encompass such vastness, and more,
but the bright hope then kindled
is still shadowed by a whispering mistrust.
***
The Wisdom Of Humility
History holds out a simple hope,
that, barring self-extinction, of which in our
ignorance and hubris we are most capable,
there will be future times, and in this age
of dismissive cancellation of the works
and beliefs of our recent forebears
for their sins of pride and exalted sense of self,
I cannot help but wonder whether we might
profit from looking at our own feet of clay,
at our own manifold failings,
and thereby lessen the severity
of our own censure,
humbly recalling,
particularly in this age of experts,
who continue to fail to subdue the enemy
that slipped unseen within our open gates,
and calmly culled the old and the weak,
the ancient admonition that
it is the wise who know
they know nothing.
***
that, barring self-extinction, of which in our
ignorance and hubris we are most capable,
there will be future times, and in this age
of dismissive cancellation of the works
and beliefs of our recent forebears
for their sins of pride and exalted sense of self,
I cannot help but wonder whether we might
profit from looking at our own feet of clay,
at our own manifold failings,
and thereby lessen the severity
of our own censure,
humbly recalling,
particularly in this age of experts,
who continue to fail to subdue the enemy
that slipped unseen within our open gates,
and calmly culled the old and the weak,
the ancient admonition that
it is the wise who know
they know nothing.
***
Turning The Telescope
During little more than the span of a long life
the fine thread of time has been woven
to the strange curvature of space,
the inaccessible skies measured
to the edge of infinity,
the fine thread of time has been woven
to the strange curvature of space,
the inaccessible skies measured
to the edge of infinity,
the inconceivable space within matter
probed to dull intelligibility,
and even the power of the black hole
hungry at the heart of every galaxy
dressed in the brightest of colours.
So now when so many are studying
individual identity, and intersectionality,
marginalisation, and abuse of power,
externally imposed characterisations,
and the experience of personal injustice,
individual identity, and intersectionality,
marginalisation, and abuse of power,
externally imposed characterisations,
and the experience of personal injustice,
perhaps it is time for me to focus on new horizons,
and to explore the many micro-aggressions
I have been forced to suffer,
and tried to counter with a shrug and a smile,
wrongly it seems.
***
Bio
Anthony Wade, Irish, an England-trained lawyer who worked in The Netherlands, published a first poem in 2018 and since in poetry magazines in England, Ireland, Scotland, and further afield, both in print and online. He lives now by the sea in East Cork, Ireland, and is an active member of the Midleton Writers’ Group.
Anthony Wade, Irish, an England-trained lawyer who worked in The Netherlands, published a first poem in 2018 and since in poetry magazines in England, Ireland, Scotland, and further afield, both in print and online. He lives now by the sea in East Cork, Ireland, and is an active member of the Midleton Writers’ Group.
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