Two poems: Seriatim and Office Existential

by Stuart Blaney


I know little but of those I’ve left behind,
why do days begin only to end?
I know little but these hidden paths of pain,
why these silent furies in my heart?

Broken light breaks through the shadow of a tree,
its roots bound deep in promises.
The light piercing our borders,
the windows, the doors,
silhouettes on the wall
breaching our distant sleep.

Your restless ways made me walk in circles
with my shadow whispering in my ear.
The spiraling force of its shell,
burning the page of my existence.
Our tangled love unfolding,
fading, dying upon a kiss.

Now, I seek the warmth
of stones, of leaves, of wood
to carve your symmetry.
And as you grow small in the distance,
standing by our banners
blown and tattered in the wind,
the rain falls gently
and I know a sadness
that looks like spring.

Office Existential

The sound of the day denies me
and makes me feel a need to be profound.
The wind strikes my face as I leave for Monday,
my suit abandons itself to the week.

I enter the office in indifference,
losing myself to bad faith
by the time I sip my first coffee,
because it’s all too easy
and it’s against regulations
to face life at work.

I sit at my desk glimpsing the cyan
through the offering of potted plants
that lean against the window,
whilst animated parodies
offer only distraction;
talking but never listening
just like the clock on the wall.

Time passes as always and I drift home
through the clouds of people who never see
past the edge of the trees to the sky,
as their gaze always awaits something
or someone to transcend their horizon,
and everyone’s walking and I’m walking, too.