#Lockdown: Two Poems by Winston Plowes

Naming Names

On the park bench
we watched the new small world
skitter round
a dog
a cough into the crook of an elbow
a woman with her head down.

We talked about haircuts
and music tribes
that migrated like birds
to the coast
on mopeds
and wondered if these things
would ever return.

And without saying a word
we both knew
that now, more than ever
it was important to learn the names
of the things that were close.

That grew on the riverbanks
and perched in the trees.

Freedom Through a Locked Window
A Homophonic Translation of Paul Eluard’s ‘Liberte’

Be sure your coils are carried
in your pupil’s arms
be sure they brush the dust.

Be sure of loose pages
as strong as branches
with songs from the heart of paper.

Be sure to imagine doors
be sure the guns are weary
and that corona is a rose.

Be sure between jungle and desert
sure in nights of birds
sure of the echo of your face.

Be sure of the sea at night
sure of the pain of the journey
of the seasons of love.

Be sure my shifting blue
sure of the tang of my soul
be sure that the moon is alive
like the king of all skylines

Be sure of all oysters
and the mountains of men.

Be sure that all food has an aura
sure the horse
sure the battery
sure the name-tagged cement

Be sure of the years of ages
of the sugar and citrus
as the pacemaker fades.

Be sure of the shapes of science
of the cold shelter
of the laws of physics.

Be sure of the spaces between eyes
sure of the unrolled path
the houses of fun.

Sure he fish shine
sure the fish live
and the crops return.

Sure the wine to share
the hall of mirrors
the wide quill of daylight.

Be sure of the sheen
of vague intent
of the feathered handshake.

Be sure of the tremble at the door
the objects of a family
sure of the forbearing flight.

Sure of the throne of peace
of the front of my memory
sure as change is the main currency.

Be sure that surprises are vital
sure of the listening leaves
in a desert full of silence.

Be sure of my homeless truth
my cruel tongue
my lazy days.

Be sure when you loose your name
that your new found loneliness
stands in a fortress.

Like the silver coin
that’s lost a bet
the hourglass memento
of freedom.

Bio: Winston Plowes shares his floating home in Calderdale UK with his seventeen-year-old cat, Sausage. He teaches creative writing in schools, universities and to local groups while she dreams of Mouseland. His latest collection, Tales from the Tachograph was published jointly with Gaia Holmes in 2018 by Calder Valley Poetry. www.winstonplowes.co.uk

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SAI Sabouke

Sai Sabouke is a writer living in New Bussa, Nigeria. He’s a dervish who sees Sufism, history and language as formidable tools for society regeneration. His writing has appeared in Praxis Magazine Online and Agbowo. Sabouke loves beans, coffee and dreams of roasting the entrails of vultures.

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