THE SHADOW THAT SITS

The shadow that sits there,

stationary and unmovable

suddenly rises with the beige of the trousers

a leap of faith!

The shadow that sits

recites and conjurs those cutting verbs

to dissect his next victim

sitting throughout, to rest his weary legs.

The shadow that sits,

sits there not only to be heard

but also to be seen as an illusive character

unmistakably present.

by Erik Winterburn

SHADOW

I can say this with real pride :

noone but I

throws my shadow.

I call it my country, my field

of operation. I cannot

call it home.

I spot it sometimes, usually at night,

leaping the wet rocks

as the tall seas break and pursue ;

or poised for a moment on the bare grey bough

calm after that stoop for eternity

out of the wind, the clutch of the mist;

by Rogan Wolf or sidling with gleeful expertise

through the ranks of the juggernauts -

this whole brutal caravan.

There is no holding it

no shaping nor naming of it ;

it is my best hope

the one element

that cannot be harmed

cannot be reduced.

All risk is survivable

and all manner of disaster

so long as my shadow plays.

It holds my true life

and will outlive me.

It will live forever.

C AST

The sharp edge cascades

to then reveal the opaque

now the shadow lives!

Haiku by Erik Winterburn

Staying home

clutching at the mantlepiece

his face next to mine.

The khaki trousers,

brush against the pale thigh

as he says his goodbye

gone to the lands

of the Somme and the golden gates

to confront the guardians

gone now, gone forever

lost within the faces of half a million other men

leaving me in the shadows.

UNTITLEDby Erik Winterburn

SHADOWby Rogan Wolf- April 1994

S

My shadow leaps on me

each time I sleep

to devour me.

Yet still my mornings

find me whole

and at each waking

there my shadow hangs

like an empty pull-over

against my wall -

wholly at my disposal.