Lemon green haloed against clear blue
surrounded by dying life,
an agitation of kisses.
Faces like books tell a story,
birth begins, death ends.

Only this silent living trunk
defines immortality, eternity.
Cups half filled with cold liquids
of dark coffee and milked tea
stained with lipstick.

This is life. It's as petty
as drinking or eating,
loving, sexualising, or hating.
It's a rotation of sun, moon,
light and darkness.

The chill comes from stones
that have taught for centuries.
Ghosts swish past, year in, out,
they speak saying nothing,
wisdom in silence is golden.


FROM SUNRISE...

A red blot of hot tempered floods
revengeful craving our blood,
fading from unknown diseases,
heat defeated by evening breezes.

Man await the scorching blaze
this killing with penetrating rays
that pierces ozone layers,
lurks overflowing in misty vales.

Salt pans form like sweating pores
stagnation, putridity on dry shores,
like some giant tears shed,
insatiable this fertile earth.

This flaming moon quenches thirst,
lapping fiercely life's liquid first,
gives forth energy and warm blasts,
or death with its never ending lust.

This fear of day and night
comes, goes impregnated, bright,
like a perfect time bomb ignites
killing man's search for eternal life.

COPYRIGHT RAYMOND FENECH MALTA EUROPE 1997

Poetry Magazine