The greater ruins
by Tom Phillips
[ poetry - january 09 ]
We are too
much held by the thought
of naiads, dryads etc - caryatids!
I am Hercules
amongst the dried pasta.
And even now I am doing it, tempted
to walk among the greater ruins.
Grandiloquence of echoes bouncing
through amphitheatre remains
on an islet (of course) herb-redolent.
Is this the game? Oh, possibly.
To be the last one standing on the shore,
homecomer recognised by scar,
and then ask: is that all? The model
of our wars remains
Troy. Gods help us.
No, belief wasn't there to be repeated.
