Sat By Old John Cabot

Chorus,
led by th’swooping few,
shriek songs in called response.
Here’t began;
here’t’ll end.

Gaze o’er, oh stoic,
statuesque, ‘n
wait a while a-wond’ring:
where, in wand’rings
riverlong, thy vessel
vanished wakeless?

The benches ’round
sit closer yet,
all moved but for
th’older two –
ah, closer then
my pen can quill
its inkwork, wakeful way…

Crack cobbles, mossy mud
‘n cigarette stubs, strewn.
Blow gentlesoft, pandemic breeze,
‘breast an unop’n’d tomb.
Cry chorus, calling cresting
waves of undulating sound.
Watch, oh silent Sunday morn’,
for blood-congealed crown.

The Aten, apexed
in the white-shrouded blue,
tips toward its phoenix-fire descent.
Here’t ends;
here’t’will begin.

My name is William Altoft. I’m a writer in and from (and consistently on) Bristol, in the UK.
WordPress: https://williamaltoft.blog/
Instagram: instagram.com/williamaltoft/

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If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

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