Two Poems by Steen Rasmussen

 

ALL FOR NAUGHT

 

Let's hope nothing is infinite

Hope nothing is the end 

That nothing dies

Time stops at nothing 

 

Let's pray everyone is unique

Pray no one repeats

That everyone dies

For a timeless eternity

 

Let's search for significance

Search in the meaningless

May we find that it is 

All for naught

 

Let's wish for a loving Universe

Wish for a human creation

That all there is

Was for our entertainment

 

(I, for one, would hate it to be so)

 

 

L E A F B L O W E R

 

For the love of God on a Saturday morning

Not now, L e a f b l o w e r !

Not any morning, noon, or night 

Am I dead – No

If I were – No, not even!

So please - please take your leave

L e a f b l o w e r

Don’t turn us over

Begone like that bee 

Honey or bumble, I care not

Both!

 

IN FACT:

Those trees whose leaves you so vigorously blow

I consented to none

Oak, birch, fruit, whatever

Fell them!

Tomorrow:

Bring tools and your bowlegged crew 

Pull the daphne and hibiscus by their thirsting roots

Yes - yes, the hydrangea and rose bushes too

Deliver to your wives and lovers for all I care

I'm sick to the core by their odour and colours

Your flowers and lovers, both!

 

When you are sure not a single leaf

(Be it in any of the five senses)

Litters my lawn

Then wrestle it into the ground

With your muscular tiller

Do I make myself clear

Leaf-lover:

I want neither to hear leaves nor sea o' grass

Ever again – both:

 

No more lyrical beetle;

No more buzzing eagle

Cause once there’s not a trace

Of a bush or a tree for a trilling

Or even one blade for a hopper to hide

The creatures you’ve allowed to trespass against me

Will surely abandon my grave

 

And on the day after the morrow

Come early again with skid-steer

Boom pump cement

By noon, I expect a foundation

The finished concrete block, at the end

See to it the sun

And moon

Find no shade here

 

What follows, I do not know

But you will be gone, L e a f b l o w e r

And I bathe in the quiet --

My dusted desert, done 

If I drink arid air alone!

Until the concrete sings

Steen Rasmussen is a native of Denmark. His interest in writing, and writing in English specifically, is rooted in many years of songwriting - singing, performing and recording his material with various garage bands. He is a contributing member of Woodside Writers, a literary forum based in New York City, where he lives and works as a real estate consultant.