Soundzine

Home Wednesday, 08 September 2010
William Henshaw


The Eyes of Harvest


read by william henshaw



You think we come to haunt,
like crawling hands or sucking deformities at night.
We come at any time, formless except for eyes,
silent, invisible at will. You know us, do you not?

We are subtle, fleeting movements in the periphery
of your vision, watching at the computer desk
or on a crowded street. We seek the keen observer,
the voracious wisdom hunter.

When we find a fit the noose is cast.
A blurring movement beside your eye
seduces you to turn and find us gone,
inexorably dancing with you, macabre,
until we’re satisfied.

Slowly, you sense your eyes are not at fault. We are real.
We are here. The awful why invades your mind.
Veins swell, brows bristle, neck hairs worm.
Thumping heartbeats in the useless time of waiting,
the strobe-lit undead of adrenalin eruptions smother you.

The consuming need for knowledge conquers fear.
You twist a final time, and we let our eyes appear.
You look, a drop-jawed look for just the instant it takes
to suck you through the portals of our eyes.
Now exquisitely one of us,
you’re happy that we came to harvest.
The ranks of the gods ever need filling.





Image
                                                                                                                         © James Williams






Cobbler, Killer , Caitlin Love


read by william henshaw



Come for me, my Caitlin love,
cross the stones in Devon Creek,
flow the gate on Bollan Hill
and let me kiss your bonnie cheek.

For I must leave tomorrow noon
to slide the rail from Devonshire;
then climb the stones to Thomas’
and mash the bugs before they sire.

In glove and mask and airless rooms
I hunt the devil’s bloody foals
slipping the syrup into their cells
that sizzles them up like burning coals.

If I would be a cobbler skilled,
a thousand year old artifact,
and not a killer of T-cell clones,
my soul, as now, would still be tacked

to Caitlin. Come for me, my love
cross the stones in Devon Creek,
flow the gate on Bollan Hill
and let me kiss your bonnie cheek.











William Henshaw (Pinehurst, NC    This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it ) is a graduate of University of Maryland Dental School. Now retired, he does musical composition, poetry, computer presentations, racquetball and fine dining with his wife, Judy.  His constant companion is a sheltie, Reba.