Six Poems by John Drudge

 

The Shape of Wind 

 

Hardship comes on  

Like the dry season  

Relentless and unyielding  

Stripping away  

All but the barest essence 

Of things 

It changes a person 

Not quickly  

Not kindly  

But in the slow  

Grinding way  

That wears down stone  

Until it bears  

The shape of the wind   

Perseverance isn’t pretty  

It’s calloused hands  

And sore backs  

Quiet nights spent staring  

At an unkind sky  

And mornings  

When you rise anyway  

There’s a beauty in it all   

A kind of rough 

And untamed elegance 

In the way people keep moving 

Keep planting  

Keep hoping 

Because deep down  

Even in the dust and despair  

There’s something stubborn  

In the human spirit  

Something that believes  

The rain will come again

A Soft Spring 

 

Spring comes on softly  

A green agitation  

Winding through soil  

Coaxing life  

From slumbering roots  

Trembling with the sap’s  

Slow ascent  

A quiet tune  

Sung in leaf and bud  

A freshness  

Catching in the chest  

A bright quickening  

That spills through veins 

Like the first taste  

Of sweet rain  

Every blade of grass  

Green and rising  

Reaching for light  

Spilling  

In careless abundance  

With a deep part of us  

Remembering  

The earth’s first spring 

And the dawn  

Of everything

Summer Melody 

 

Summer  

A golden melody  

Bright and breezy notes  

That run along the shoreline  

Where the waves keep time  

And the sun paints everything  

In hues of honey and tangerine 

And the air tastes of salt  

And freedom  

Like the promise  

Of endless days  

Quivering and dancing  

And wrapping you  

In warm harmonies  

A bittersweet chord 

That fades like the final note  

Of blue sky  

In endless refrain

As Paris Reels Before Me 

 

A wavering dream  

Of light and shadow  

Cobblestones slick  

With the secret confessions  

Of wandering souls 

The night air  

Thick with the smell  

Of wine and gutter smoke  

Like the memory  

Of a broken lover  

As I stumble on   

Laughing at nothing  

With the ghosts of old poets  

And forgotten drifters 

Lurking in dark alleys  

Waiting for the dawn  

To unmask sorrow

Solo  

 

Lust coils 

Like a lazy serpent  

Sleek and unhurried  

Scales glinting  

In the dim light 

A saxophone moans  

In liquid syllables  

A voice too wise  

For innocence  

As she slides  

Through the room  

Like a lost lover  

The dark surge  

Of the night  

Embodied  

Her laughter sharp  

As broken crystal  

Her perfume a spell  

That lingers long after

Our Nature  

 

In the quantum rumble 

Particles waver  

Between being  

And not-being   

Superpositions 

Dreams entangled  

With flesh 

A dance of probabilities 

Where every decision  

Collapses  

Into an infinity of possibilities  

Into a singular moment   

Inhabiting a paradox 

Stars yearning for meaning 

Sparks asking eternal questions  

In boundless fields  

Of uncertainty 

Where meaning is not found  

But made  

With the threads  

Of our choices  

Our connections  

And the weight  

Of observing  

What is yet to be 

And what never was

  

John Drudge is a social worker working in the field of disability management and holds degrees in social work, rehabilitation services, and psychology. He is the author of seven books of poetry: “March” (2019), “The Seasons of Us” (2019), New Days (2020), Fragments (2021), A Long Walk (2023), A Curious Art (2024) and Sojourns (2024) . His work has appeared widely in literary journals, magazines, and anthologies internationally. John is also a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee and lives in Caledon Ontario, Canada with his wife and two children.