Unborn the Cry
The unborn child is crying to be born
(the white owl circles, silently listening)
razor thin and piercing
the cry of the unborn child
one shudders in a grotesque storm of bullets
another pines away, emaciated
(death is thinning his passionate blood)
a third goes under the waters half glad to drown
the saint is pierced by incessant arrows of desire
words like leeches hang from every wound
black bloated and swelling
is there a way to know
the wound from the child
the child from the word
or shall we simply live the cry
cry after cry
arrow after arrow
wound upon wound
where every pore is a mouth
BIO
George Jisho Robertson was first and always a teacher of literature and an advocate for children, becoming an innovative senior high principal in three schools. In 1990 he became a Zen priest. From 2008 he has lived in London, UK where he devotes his life to family, poetry, photographic art and creating a garden for a community of elderly folk.
