CHARITY
The gusts of wind, that fling the scattered rain
against the panes and flail the eucalyptus –
which jerks as if a frantic, shaken doll –
are lowing in the chimney like an owl.
I draw the curtains as the twilight goes,
switch on the laptop and begin to write,
thinking of those who are without – homeless,
hungry, thirsty – no more than a mile
let alone a continent away.
Though giving assuages, on stormy,
desperate nights, survivor’s guilt intrudes
like a draught. Can we only save, at best,
ourselves and not the world?
Ian Craine
March 22, 2014A lovely poem, David, complemented by the final one. The eucalpytus ‘jerking like a frantic shaken doll’ is a deft image.
Adrian Ackroyd
March 24, 2014Good! Reminded me of the need to pollard one of the eucalyptuses in the back garden this spring!
David Selzer
April 8, 2014And they say poetry has no practical value.
John Huddart
March 25, 2014Thanks, Ian, for pointing out the thematic link in this carefully selected quintet. As a starting point, this explores an aspect of the old simile “as cold as charity.” And you can hear David’s mother saying, “You do what you should”, if she had such doubts.
Tricia
March 25, 2014Survivor’s guilt – I know it well. That eucalyptus image is most powerful