Homage to Claude Debussy
he who has seen what the west wind saw
is never fit to lie quiet in his bed
by night the teeming darkness will unfold
a spectral carnival: terrains untrod
peopled with monsters never seen before
and never in this epoch seen again
he who has seen what the west wind saw
has felt the ground sway like a cradle rocked
seen trees cast branches: hills cry tears of stone
touched shattered concrete faced with crackled lime
watched bridges slashed with blackest fissures split
and tumble in as torrents plunge like steeds
he who has seen what the west wind saw
has heard the dying crack of ancient pines
seen whirlwinds levitate the glowing ash
of till now silent forests steeped in time
watched eldritch shaggy trees of verdant dark
blaze over silver birches crowned with flame
he who has seen what the west wind saw
knows it derides immovability
all boulders roll at length into the beck
by stormy torrents fretted into sand
heaped up in islands at the river’s mouth
and spread across the ocean’s gloomy floor
he who has seen what the west wind saw
senses its urgent thrust within his veins
never knowing rest while surging life
yet throbs within his heart. The open grave
yawns wide: the savaged planet yearns
to be engulfed by its sustaining star
Whitby Writers Group 