Canto CLXVII

I wonder how I look to the pilot
of the air ambulance as it takes off
from the soggy grass of Ruskin Park?

A cretin yokel with my camera phone
seeing existence as some kind of film
oblivious to the misfortune

of whoever was found within the calm
landscaped surroundings, remnants of snowmen,
the London Planes and wildly seeded elms.

And only when the machine has risen
beyond the vantage of my fish eye lens,
I come to and ask myself the question,

why did I run here through the drizzly rain
fumbling to document this swift ascent,
clutching its cargo of the newly maimed,

into the scabby clouds, the cold heavens?

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2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Feb 14, 2012 @ 00:46:58

    Oh I like this…
    “How are the mighty fallen”
    Just the kind of behaviour you lampoon in your poetry and here you are ready to be the first with your camera phone. You see the helicopter but not the whole picture. It’s a knee jerk reaction. In mitigation, you rationalise after the event.

    I think about your poems, I hope other people do too.

    Reply

    • Niall O'Sullivan
      Feb 14, 2012 @ 11:14:04

      Peter, I hope other people do think about these poems but they seem to keep those thoughts to themselves if they do! I am very grateful for you regular, thoughtful rejoinders. 🙂

      Reply

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