Member Poem

Past sunlit fountains where scattered
rainbow droplets fall to its calling,
over the graceful arch of the bridge
that reflects and defies its calling,
in the roaring whoosh and swoop
of wild carnival rides of wonder
that leave us breathless in the air,
gravity bends the light and drives
the blood that courses in our veins:
when we reach up it calls us down,
keeps us spinning round the sun,
defines the span of night and day.

In words that fall from our lips,
in the river run of images that
rush and flow through our brains,
always tumbling into the past
in the moment of their calling,
gravity drives the blood and bends
the light that courses in our veins:
it shapes the stars, breaks our bones,
spills the clouds onto the ground,
sets the boundaries of our play.

From the wail of birth’s hard fall
to the coffin’s silent roped descent,
from the pull of an age that was
wide and weightless to the weight
of miles passed and years defined,
gravity bends the light and drives
the blood that courses in our veins:
it breaks our bones, calls us down,
keeps us spinning round the sun,
fuses cells and time and flesh
and takes our breath away.