The Season of Phantasmal Peace
By Derek Walcott
Then all the nations of birds lifted together
The huge net of the shadows of this earth
In multitudinous dialects, twittering tongues,
Stitching and crossing it. They lifted up
The shadows of long pines down trackless slopes,
The shadows of glass-faced towers down evening streets,
The shadow of a frail plant on a city sill—
The net rising soundless as night, the birds’ cries soundless, until
There was no longer dusk, or season, decline, or weather
Only this passage phantasmal of light
That not the narrowest shadow dared to sever.
Suffocated Tongues
By Brandy Adams
Then all the restraints of collars smothered together
the flickering seeds of the tongues of this blaze
in eminent stampedes, pastoral Stechschritt,
scuttling and plunging it. They stamped
the tongues of crooked throats down forgotten avenues,
the tongues of spine-tainted hectors down barricaded byways,
the tongues of a blushed beard on the rushing Porphyria—
the seeds sputtering callous as grain, the collars’ eyes callous, until
there was no longer cinders, or embers, resistance, or crackle,
only this insignificant ink of smudge
that not the almightiest tongue cared to destruct.
I brought this home and worked on it a while longer... I'm not sure about it.
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