Haddocks’ Eyes

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

A day of light starts

To shine upon the heads of

Netted pilchard eyes.

~ Buson  [Englished by Phillip Whidden]

The dawn comes up, so slow, so slow, yet not

As slowly as eternity, which waits

Till we are dead, both you and I, its slot,

Its endless slot, and bears us with the weights

Of mass obliteration, galaxies

In gulping, chewing, swallowing of stars,

Yes, blackest stars, black holes as well.   Stars seize

Each other, ruthless, barely leaving scars

For James Webb’s telescope to see.  The dawn

Comes up.  And what do dawning’s light beams see?

They see the heads of haddocks lying on

The deck in nets.  They see eternity.

  The fishermen continue ruthless in

    Their slaughter, thinking they should help death win.

© Phillip Whidden