Sunday evening. The thick-lipped men binoculared
Steal through the geometric groves of pines,
Observing the steady and fatal hands of poachers
And the young loving in wrinkles of the dunes.
Grey in the wind sand tides against the turrets,
And watchful sight is bridged towards the sea,
Where silent the marram defends a wearing land
And the seagulls climb like Junkers a plaster sky.
The air is alive with voices, the loving whisper,
The rodent screams at neck-constricting hand,
Gulls’ earthless wail and dank watchers’ laughter.
Always the wind whistles through teeth of sand.
Night falls on the lovers, marram and voices.
Dark hinders eyes, yet aids the brutal hand.
Watchers depart, but the snares are filling.
Wind dries the blood on the moving sand.
(George Woodcock)
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Based on Topics: Night Poems, Youth Poems, Sense & Perception Poems, Laughter PoemsBased on Keywords: bridged, geometric, rodent, poachers, earthless, junkers, thick-lipped