"The unwanted unwanting the world"

THERE IS NO RIOT

Even that desperate gaiety is gone.
Empty bottles, no longer trophies
are weapons now. Even the cunning
grumble. "If is talk you want," she said,
"you wasting time with me. Try the church."
One time, it was because rain fell
there was no riot. Another time
it was because the terrorist forgot
to bring the bomb. Now, in these days
though no rain falls, and bombs are well remembered
there is no riot. But everywhere
empty and broken bottles gleam like ruin.


O MY COMPANION

This afternoon white sea-birds
were quiet, very quiet, until
a cloud over the sun fooled them
it was sunset. The fishes laughed
at the hook in the bait. The cork danced.

Where you are, I am. Lost and seeking
I question the waste. The wind
is blue smoke. From the fires
no flame sprouts. In the distance
day is a foreigner. If a child drowns
it is the sky's fault. If sea-birds stray
the sun's. O my companion.


FOR WALTER RODNEY

Assassins of conversation
they bury the voice
they assassinate, in the beloved
grave of the voice, never to be silent.
I sit in the presence of rain
in the sky's wild noise
of the feet of some who
not only, but also, kill
the origin of rain, the ankle
of the whore, as fastidious
as the great fight, the wife
of water. Risker, risk.
I intend to turn a sky
of tears, for you.

from Selected Poems by Martin Carter (1927 - 1997)