Tom Žorgautr


cautiously he calculated god

marvelous equations that spiralled across his page

like sterile fireworks

the mechanical gurning of the printer, his fanfare


in his youth he’d drowned in fog

ankle deep in a brook

the seed inside him drank its fill

and germinated, out on that white moor


his mother had stood by the wailing wall

as the sky was buried above birds

in the ensuing shadow she longed to know

the distance to the horizon


but now she was dead, along with her faith

and the acorn to her oak

from the generation all with hearts of stone

had cracked a precious code




Tom Žorgautr lives in Wales.  Most of his life he has been scribbling his thoughts down and in recent years they have taken the shape of poems. Every few days he is  inspired enough to grab a notepad and pen and either climb a hill to escape the mist, or sit on the harbour wall to wallow in the thick of it.