Two Poems by Bernard Pearson
Serendipity Like pressed meadow flowers Dry upon the foxed Paper in m’lady’s book Some lives will always be Set by others for beauty Of a kind. But yours was storm Water Careering you towards another ice cold Sudden, descending Cataract ever carrying you along In the old song of life To which you never Quite learnt the words. Bogart Cigarette lolling From pastrami coloured, Whiskied, wafer thin Snarl frozen lips. Your hard shoulder, Made for girls With other worlds In their eyes to cry upon. That thing you did with your hat, As if it were trying you on for size. The twang of the hunted In your voice left hanging In the haunted air Silenced by the light of day And the way you spat bad men casually, from the sidecar of your mouth and left them bullet rich, to foul the sidewalk. ___ Bernard Pearson 's work has appeared in many publications, including: Aesthetica Magazine, The Edinburgh R
