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.

Raluca Ioana Manolescu

Rik Wilkinson

Copii pierduti

Arta nu are nici o putere sa traseze liniile ce au fost inlaturate;
Copilul, copiii pierduti in plimbari calare prin paduri.
Nici o masura nu-i poate trasa pe cei dragi
Printre pinii impetuosi, miresele inalte imbracate in verde;
Pasunile care ar face furcile sa se miste, bagheta mea de culoarea alunei,
Sunt adanc ingropate in lumea senzuala.
Ce a provocat rasete a murit, din iazul din padure
Pasionatul vanator a strigat-dar n-a fost gasit niciodata.

Umbland prin camera luminata de lumanare, cu spatele la perete,
Fete s-au intors una catre cealalta, flacari se reflectau in foc,
Viitorul arunca umbre lungi si desarte: totul in Urma,
dandu-se vina pe zilele aglomerate de ieri.

Mintea este plina de maces aspru in floare;
Un nod de ape curgatoare in floare, un Turn ruinat.