A night nurse's notes at St. Vincent's Hospital, New York City, 1953

Some Welsh bard lies in a state,
Brought in collapsed after
Toasting his small gods
In a downtown joint;
Comatose, he cannot speak,
But he can still dream and
See his way back to
The spiritual sites he
Daubed with God-given graffiti:

Swansea,

Chelsea,

Oxford,

Laugharne,

He is lying on his back,
Dressed in druidic white,
His shuttered eyes light
The vaulted room;
His body drinks the drips,
He is leaving for his last journey,
Raising his final overflowing grail
In a circle of stoned friends.

He is gone.









Poetry by Christopher Fernie
Read 171 times
Written on 2019-09-06 at 13:51

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antoniya katelieva-wood The PoetBay support member heart!
So sad and lovely poem
2019-09-22


arquious The PoetBay support member heart!
Captures elegantly what one goes through in the silence of a crypt or an abbey or churchyard, so palpably emotive!
2019-09-12



Superlative. Moving. Bookmarked!
2019-09-06


ken d williams The PoetBay support member heart!
The Poet The Bard
He lives on in his
Work
Ken D Williams
2019-09-06


Katniss
So sad....
2019-09-06