Sovereignty on The Sunday Before Easter
I found a dirty pound coin today,
One that I only sometimes knew I had.
Not one of the fresh minted
inimitable graven images,
But an old and gob caked sun
That had passed through
A thousand palms,
Been strewn across
A myriad counters.
It sang to me of its life
Among lower class coinage
Common fifty pence pieces
And chavvy twenty p’s.
How it had struggled
For traditional values
In dark pockets
Among the dumb grief
Of tear-stained tissues
And spent lottery tickets.
It was worth more than this.
It said, without a hint of bitter irony.
Transfiguration
Kafkaesque Scorpions
Scuttle to the rocks,
Their question mark tails
The last to disappear.
Mount Tabor
suitably desolate,
A piece of land
Scrunched up
like discarded parchment.
The light fading
In the distance over
The cobalt sea,
And yet still rising
From where he stood.
And the boat builder
With nails between his teeth
And the others
‘Fishermen out of water,’
And the two ancients dumb
From their work
And the Power and the Glory
For only he who knew the story
And the sand beneath their feet
And the hand of benediction
Left them after this assemblage
Knowing that though doomed,
they were replete.
Bernard Pearson's work appears in many publications, including; Aesthetica Magazine , The Edinburgh Review, Crossways, The Gentian, Nymphs The Poetry Village, Beneath The Fever, The Beach Hut Little stone. work coming up in Big Easy, and Orange Blush In 2017 a selection of his poetry ‘In Free Fall’ was published by Leaf by Leaf Press. In 2019 he won second prize in The Aurora Prize for Writing for his poem Manor Farm. He is also a Biographer and Prize winning short story writer.
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