Poems by Tom Pow

THE VILLAGE & THE ROAD (2)


In the village, they think of those
who have taken to the road 
				On the road 
they think of the next village


		❇


There are those on the road who never think
of the village
	There are those in the village
who have made their lives an open road


		❇


When the road turns to water,
	you must grow fins


		❇


There are countless dead villages
	but no dead roads

	(Discuss)


		❇




You don't gather flowers 
	on the open road
	for the open road


		❇


	     You gather stories on the open road
for such times 
	as you have need of a bouquet

or to tell to yourself when darkness falls
and the faces 
	of all the flowers turn black


		❇



Each night, its kindness 
	made the village glow

Wolves patrolled its roads,
	letting no one 
	either in or out


		❇



If I were to meet my dead father
I would choose to do so in spring

not within the confines of the village,
but casually on the open road

preferably in the early evening




THE VILLAGE & THE ROAD (3)

I live in one village
	but I dream of another

I walk down the road
	the sun hot on my back

the books, an unmapped 
	road in my satchel


		❇


She knew the roads
	between villages
the paths through the forest
and a few more that once
	skirted the fields

She lifted her head
	to the blue steppe of the sky -
to the birds, above, 
	busy with nesting


		❇


There were three roads 
	out of the village -
two led into the world; 
	the other to the sky

Now each of these roads 
	has been taken,
the village spins 
	uselessly in the wind


		 ✻

Sunlight through leaves,
	stippling bands 
across a road
	just before it curves

It's possible to love
	when love
is a fixed point,
	going nowhere

		✻


Between the village and the road -
a moon of golden broth
shining in the darkness,
a pinch of earth for remembrance