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.