Two Poems

by MJ Duggan


Ithaca
 
Trojan bronze and coin
embedded in Ionian turquoise blue;
Where metal black crows span above a man spraying spittle
over weaved baskets in strips of long bamboo - skinned.
 
I suckled on Tzatziki and lamb Kleftiko
consumed a carafe of Grecian wine;
saw the stars of Ithaca dance with mountain songs
bells chimed like the after-dinner shrill from deranged sirens.
 
Gazed like the God’s at amber and crystal blue boxes
jarred along a shark bitten tail shaped bay
prickled fruit – decaying pomegranate
peeling red flesh inside the opened draining of day. 
 
I travelled on the navy blue albatross
wooden fin splicing through Hellenic water; Triangles in translucent green
reflections from the feverish and mad -
the faces of those who had come before me.
 
Half sunken Byzantium shaped ships
moulded into yellow cliff - Crescendo of beach crickets surfing
on the sound buckles of Poseidon wrists,
I swam in the strong currents – mangled in storms
 
Tumbling through rotten ship masts
lined with dead pine trees; My lungs filled with salt
while white snappers nibbled at my blue flesh,
my limp body awakened and dragged to the surface of a unfamiliar sea.
 
A beautiful woman with olive skin and tarantula coloured hair held me
I peered down into the depths of clear ocean,
noticing she had dolphin heads as human feet
her complexion and breasts as smooth as soft whale skin
 
In an ancient tongue she pointed to the rise of sun
a pink centre of valley -  shining marble from the caves of the nymph;
as I swam closer I saw the chipped face of Odyssey shaped in the marbled mountain
in green cypress print – Inside the cave Penelope weaved her twenty first shroud.


The Missing Quarter- Jacks
 
On the edge of Corn street
I stood as a child like Southey before me;
Awaiting the clocks final tick
Eyes like a tourist staring at the quarter jacks
Transfixed!
 
On the hour they moved
In beetle red - luminous yellow,
Marching towards the clock-face
The seconds chime from golden hammers on Broad Street;
delivering the sound of time.
 
Today the Quarter Jacks are missing
Lost in dust-bins of boxed antiquities
Waiting on a slashed council budget to unclamp their rustic uniforms;
With the stone pages
etched in ancient cuneiform.