The second poem about Jason’s Garden.
I knew Jason briefly when he was a teenager and helped to put up a large shed in our garden. I was shocked when I heard the news about him, more so perhaps because we had been through a similar experience in our family.
In 1998 Jason Pope, aged 24, disappeared from the mine where he was working in Angola when it was attacked by rebels.
Jason’s family felt that the development of this garden would be a good way to commemorate Jason’s life. It is opened to the public occasionally and is a haven of peace and a tribute of love.
The Anchorage of Love
Free yet anchored to the red-stone edge
where once bravado teetered.
I hear the plaintive buzzard mew.
Mobbed by dog-fight gulls
the buzzard cedes its airy space
and drops to tree-top sanctuary;
its whimpered baby-cry
the smothered echo
of a wail of years ago.
I taste the salty air
whipped from sea-spray
breasting sea-walls chains below;
the fear-bead salt of sweat
that slakes the cracks of desert lips
and lingers there.
I see beauty
growing from that sandstone soil
where morning dew dissolves
and glistens with the rise of sun
in tears of bloody red.
Through moon-arch window
I touch the bloom of sculptures,
rust-red, coppered, bronzed,
forged from ores where mine meets mind.
I smell the ozone, biting-fresh,
the yin of life that foetal curls
within the womb of cordite’s yang.
Free, I feel love’s anchors
in that garden on the red-stone edge.
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Jason’s Garden …..