: Steven Waling :

MYOPIA

Without glasses landscapes are hazy
the world unreadable your face

soft focus Mary Pickford mouthing
sweet nothings to the audience

spectacles compensate now I view
by refraction like seeing stars

through the lens of a telescope
so close they lose themselves

but there's a horn-rimmed frame
around my world and borders are

blurred exposures foreign land
the eye trespasses into when tired

at night before I go to sleep
I take my glasses off all the better

to see you with

PINOCHET
for Victor Jara

Explore the many mills and markets for
I have to write of horror. How hard it is to sing

I remember you Amanda / when the streets were wet

Even the headstrong general had to agree
your age is no excuse if you trespass

For your peace of mind before it's too late
we organised support concerts for the hands broke
in the stadium. Tell everyone to use the system

this notice is temporarily out of order as
our troops crowd in on democracy. Today
is bittersweet talk of a Chilean variation;
help us to ensure a safer environment

In our front room Chilean refugees made eyes
at my sister (He took his crimes to the grave

PEACE POEM

Sometimes you have to put on noise
to achieve a bit of peace, like now
when I play my Hildegaard of Bingen
to clear the mind. Or turn off the news,

put on a punk rock compilation
because the kids who rule the world
are playing with their toys again.
High voices sing the love of Christ

like a salve or balm, then I pick
at the scab of frustration with some
furious guitar. Which is better?
I don’t know: but when a hole opens

in my prayer life and I’m morose
as a rainstorm at the zoo
my thoughts rumble like traffic
stuck at the lights. So:

Dame Hildegaard today: heaven
attached to the earth by a thread.


stevenwaling
MYOPIA Without glasses landscapes are hazy the world unreadable your face soft focus Mary Pickford mouthing sweet nothings to the audience spectacles compensate now I view by refraction like seeing stars through the lens of a telescope so close they lose themselves but there's a horn-rimmed frame around my world and borders are blurred exposures foreign land the eye trespasses into when tired at night before I go to sleep I take my glasses off all the better to see you with PINOCHET for Victor Jara Explore the many mills and markets for I have to write of horror. How hard it is to sing I remember you Amanda / when the streets were wet Even the headstrong general had to agree your age is no excuse if you trespass For your peace of mind before it's too late we organised support concerts for the hands broke in the stadium. Tell everyone to use the system this notice is temporarily out of order as our troops crowd in on democracy. Today is bittersweet talk of a Chilean variation; help us to ensure a safer environment In our front room Chilean refugees made eyes at my sister (He took his crimes to the grave PEACE POEM Sometimes you have to put on noise to achieve a bit of peace, like now when I play my Hildegaard of Bingen to clear the mind. Or turn off the news, put on a punk rock compilation because the kids who rule the world are playing with their toys again. High voices sing the love of Christ like a salve or balm, then I pick at the scab of frustration with some furious guitar. Which is better? I don’t know: but when a hole opens in my prayer life and I’m morose as a rainstorm at the zoo my thoughts rumble like traffic stuck at the lights. So: Dame Hildegaard today: heaven attached to the earth by a thread.
stevenwaling is the author of Calling Myself On The Phone (Smith/Doorstop 2003) and Travelator (Salt 2007). He lives in Manchester, England, is a freelance writer, tutor and also works in a Quaker Peace organisation. He has recently been appointed as Writer-in-Residence in HMP Whatton.