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Poetry Library Southbank Centre - The Poetry Library housing the Arts Council Collection at Southbank Centre

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Patrick B Osada

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Risus Sardonicus

Clamouring Sunday bells. The shimmering air,
Iridescent mirror of a brassy sun,
Conducts the peals across the dew decked lawn
To drone, petal soft amongst the bees,
Or climb, conspiring with birds in song.

Wandering the dusty greyness of the path
I linger, cool amongst trim green of yew,
And from refreshing shade imagine,
Above the distant jangling bells,
The hollyhocks, brazen, trumpeting the day.

Beyond the yews the dappled shade of pine extends.
The trees, a cool and peaceful nave,
Inviolable against the glaring day,
Command a quieting of mind, composure,
Peace within this sanctuary.

Vaulting pine fronds screen a darkling sun
Spreading the light as gleaming pools of gold :
Adorning trifles.
                     A gilded fir cone attracts my eye,
                     Auspicious blood berries lie close by.

Here decaying leaves are speckled red,
The splattered blood has left a natural trail
Too visible to ignore....... I follow,
Scuffing silence. Steps rasp fallen leaves My
cautious progress amplified.

Beneath a bush I find him lying,
Unnatural, twisted, posturing in death :
Defiance frozen in his reaching limbs,
Anguish smiles crookedly through bared teeth,
Eyes fixed, a final glare of grief.

Hypnotized by death I stand transfixed
Till suddenly the silence roars with bells.
Trembling, white faced, I hurry into church,
Small boy haunted by a fox's death -
I daren't look at the crucifix.

 

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