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.

Silvia Niculae

Rik Wilkinson

Copii pierduti

Arta nu are putere sa refaca liniile sterse;
Copilul, copiii pierduti in calatorii prin padure.
Nici o unitate de masura nu poate regasi liniile celor iubiti
Printre pinii unduitori, inalte mirese verzi;
Liniile care ar misca bagheta mea de alun,
Sunt adanc ingropate in pamantul voluptuos.
Ceea ce a curmat rasul zglobiu la iazul din padure
Vanatorul pasionat a cautat – dar nu a gasit niciodata.

Pasind prin camera cu lumanari, calcaiele intoarse spre perete,
Fetele intoarse una spre cealalta, flacarile reflectate in foc,
Viitorul arunca umbre lungi si desarte: totul in Urma,
aglomeratele zile de ieri raspunzatoare.
      Mintea este intesata de florile de maces salbatic;
      O inflorescenta incalcita, un Turn in ruina.