Rik Wilkinson

Children Lost

Art has no power to trace the lines removed;
The child, the children lost in forest rides.
No measure maps the ley-lines of those loved
Among the sweeping pines, the tall green brides;
Leys that would move the fork, my hazel wand,
Are deeply buried in the sensual ground.
What running laughter killed, from woodland pond
The impassioned hunter called - but never found.

Striding the candled room, turned heel to wall,
Face turned upon face, flames mirrored in the flame,
The future throws long, barren shadows: all Behind,
the crowded yesterdays to blame.
        The mind is filled with brutal briar in flower;
        A tangled stream in bloom, a ruined Tower.

Cristine Niculae

Rik Wilkinson

Copii pierduti

Arta nu are nicio forta sa traseze destine inlaturate;
Copilul, copiii pierduti in plimbari calare prin padure.
Nicio masuratoare nu traseaza destinele celor iubiti
Printre pinii ce serpuiesc, mirese inalte si verzi;
Destine ce ar misca furca, nuiaua mea de alun
Sunt adanc ingropate in pamantul sensual
Ce raset continuu ucis, de la iazul impadurit,
Striga vanatorul zelos- dar niciodata gasite.

Mergand cu pasi mari prin camera luminata, cu calcaiele spre perete,
Cu fata intoarsa spre sine, flacari oglindite in flacara,
Viitorul arunca umbre lungi, pustii: toate sunt in urma,
Zilele de ieri aglomerate sunt de vina.
     Mintea e plina cu ferestreu brutal aflat in floare;
     Un curent incalcit in floare, un Turn ruinat.